


Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt?

by TheOrangeAurora



Series: Ubi sunt qui ante nos fuerunt? [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Anxiety, Attempted Murder, Blood, Brief clinical death, Depression, Established Relationship, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Nightmares, Possibly large amount of inaccuracies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slurs, Suicidal Thoughts, Swearing, This is generally not a happy phanfic, Violence, graphic depictions of blood, there will be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:05:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 23
Words: 61,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9674042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOrangeAurora/pseuds/TheOrangeAurora
Summary: After a heated, recurring argument, Dan leaves the apartment to calm down. Little did they know that by Dan walking out on his and Phil's fight, both of their lives will change drastically. It's a story of how unfortunate coincidences and an unjust sentence can forever change a person.Nominated for Best Angst in Phanfic Awards 2017





	1. Memento Mori

**Author's Note:**

> This is a project that I originally didn't really intend to start, but got inspired for so strongly, that I had to write it and I fell in love with it through its dark themes. I will try to put additional warnings at the beginning of each chapter, but I warn you early on, there will be a lot of triggering themes in this fic.
> 
> Leave a kudos and/or a comment if you like it! Every bit of knowledge that people enjoy my works helps me along! <3
> 
> I will update this fic every Sunday.
> 
> Originally based on this prompt: Someone almost kills Phil,he is left in a coma. Dan,his boyfriend,is sent to jail unjustly. A couple of years latter Phil wakes up and clears Dan's name. Phil is left with the trauma of his attempted murder and loosing years of his life. Dan is left with the trauma of his time in prison (prison non-con). They still love each other but the road back to each other is hard with all the trauma they've been through. You can throw in a culprit that still wants blood

“Can we not do this right now, Dan? I have to get this done--” but Phil didn't get to finish his sentence when a sneer interrupted him, an angry Dan glaring down at the older man, arms crossed over his chest. 

It felt like they had fallen back to 2012, and it felt so sudden. They were angry more frequently and the small things were blown out of proportions by both of them. Of course, at first they had held back, but eventually they would explode, voices raising in volume, red blotches covering pale faces, arms waved around and things kicked. 

Doors slammed. 

“You fucking _promised_ that you would talk to me before agreeing to anything. It's not just your AmazingPhil stuff on the line here, okay?! Just pull your head out of your ass once in awhile,” Dan practically hissed and Phil's brow twitched in annoyance as he pushed himself up from his seat to look Dan directly in the eyes. Though it was different from 2012 and he wasn't looking down at Dan anymore, it still felt the same, with the heat of the anger blurring his vision. His voice trembled through the attempt to keep it calm “I told you that I was interested in this. I told you and maybe if you would actually listen to me for once you would know what you're agreeing to.” 

Dan's face darkened at that. Sure, he talked a lot, he knew that, but who in the bloody hells did Phil think he was, accusing _Dan_ of not listening.

“Fuck you,” he spat back, and there was every bit of malice in that simple phrase. He stepped forward, closer to Phil, whose features had always been so beloved to Dan and yet now all he wanted to do was punch the delicate jaw and the sharp cheekbones “Fuck. You. Philip Lester. I have paid more attention to you than anyone else. Ever. But apparently that's not enough for the baby little brother Lester and throwing insults is all he can succumb to when faced with the fact that you are pretty much _selling my brand when I didn't agree to it._ ”

“First off, it's _our_ brand,” Phil leaned closer, shoulders tense, teeth gritting hard and his usually soft blue eyes had turned into ice, burning into the dark onyx depths of Dan's dilated pupils. “Secondly, I told you I am not selling it, I have not agreed to anything yet, I just told we were interested,” he huffed out a breath, and the action as if irritated the younger man even more, hands suddenly rested against Phil's chest to push him and he stumbled, nearly falling over the office chair.

“You know what, fuck this, you're singing a different song here now than just an hour ago, I can't deal with this absolute bullshit of yours,” before Phil had even regained his footing, Dan had turned and left the office. He could hear the angry footsteps across the apartment and he expected to hear Dan's bedroom door to slam shut, but instead he heard the steps coming back through the apartment and then….

“Dan, where are you going?” Phil leaned over the railing of the hallway stairs, looking down at Dan's retreating figure into the darkness, all clad in a black as always. 

“Out.” his voice was final and Dan, pulling on his shoes and throwing the hood over his head, left, the door slammed shut, loudly, and any other day they would've been impressed about how the glass didn't break, but today neither of them cared. 

“D-Dan!'' Phil only managed to call out after him, surprised, concerned. A brief look at the watch told him that it was near 2 in the morning and a sense of worry washed over Phil.

=====

It felt like an hour later that Dan finally regained his composure, having practically ran for the first few blocks, unsure of where he was headed, before he'd stopped and continued on pacing down the wet night streets, the drizzle making the air humid once again, making his hair curl with every passing minute. 

He felt the eyes on him from the very few people that he passed by. For it was odd to be awake at such a late hour on the week day and though their neighbourhood was considerably safe, Dan soon found himself venturing back towards where their home was.

He heard the few cars that passed by, and the far away sirens of a police car and that of an ambulance. 

Sounds that were normal to the London life and he relaxed, gradually, the coolness of the thin raindrops finally wiping away the initial anger that had taken over when he'd seen the papers on the dining table earlier that night. The anger had been sudden, like frequently in the past weeks. Or had it been months by now? 

Idly, he kicked at a squished can, listening to the scraping metal sound as it slid and rolled across the pavement. He felt as his phone began to vibrate and arched a brow at that. It was always that when they fought, it would be at some point that Phil would text him, but never call. 

He was even more confused that it was an unknown number on his screen. Usually he would have dropped the call, but, pressing his lips together and leaning against a nearby lamppost, he finally picked it up “Hello?”

“Is this Daniel Howell?” The voice, completely unfamiliar but urgent, questioned on the other side of the line and his brows knit together at that. Though generally calmer after the earlier happenings, his body shivered, a sense of dread coursing through his veins like tiny icicles suddenly “Depends on who's asking,” he replied and though he kept his voice steady, it was low and curious. 

When the woman spoke up next, however, he almost wished that he hadn't picked up. That by ignoring the call he would never have to hear the words that next spilled through the speaker “I am calling on behalf of Philip Lester, he was stabbed earlier tonight and you were listed as his main emergency contact.”

His heart stopped. It felt like it fell to his stomach and that together they fell through the pavement. His mind turned into a white blur of words and he had to lean into the lamppost more, his knees suddenly feeling like they were made out of jello.

_He was stabbed earlier tonight._

The words floated through his mind, repeating in an increasing cacophony of echoes within his skull and suddenly he gasped, realising that he had began sliding down the lamppost and towards the ground. Instead, he leaned his hand against the nearby trash bin, to hold himself upright “He is currently undergoing surgery,” the words struck him like a lightning made out of different emotions. Phil had been stabbed, but they were operating him and that meant that he would live. 

He had to live. 

He had to survive. 

He couldn't just up and leave Dan like this.

He didn't even realise when the drizzling rain on his face had been exchanged with the salty tears until he hiccupped loudly and the woman on the other end paused her explanation of the situation. “He is in the hands of the best surgeons in the country,” her voice was suddenly hushed, gentle, and the urgency had been replaced with something motherly instead. “If it helps, you can come to the hospital, it will take a while for the surgery to complete, but you're allowed to wait.” Dan, voice strained, managed to mutter out a “Please,” and as soon as the call was over, with trembling fingers he dialed for a cab.

He had to get to Phil. He couldn't bear the idea of possibly being late and his leg jumped when the cab seemed to be too slow and he threw some random banknotes at the driver while jumping out of the car to rush, stumbling over his own feet, into the hospital and up to the reception. 

“Philip Lester, he's- he- I was called--” he couldn't finish his sentence, but the receptionist that he addressed only nodded, while giving a knowing look to the other one who soon brought over a cup of water for Dan. He completely ignored it though, fingers trembling as he pulled at the hem of his jacket “Come on!!” he finally called out when no directions were given yet, but the voice had a higher pitch and dissipated into nothing but a silent squeak. “You are mister Howell, correct?” he frantically nodded and the receptionist noted it down “C wing, down the hall over there, but he probably won't be out for another few hours,” subconsciously Dan realised that he paled even more, when the woman looked at him worriedly, like he was about to collapse ''He came in with a punctured lung and possible concussion,” Dan nodded, numbly, before pushing himself away from the receptionist counter and staggering across the hall and into the direction of the waiting room. He sucked in short breaths, eyes stinging with tears and nails digging into the skin of his palms. 

The red of the sign announcing the operation room being in use was the final blow and his knees buckled when he leaned against the nearest wall, unable to comprehend the situation any longer. How could this happen? He had been at home-- Had their home been broken into when he left? Had Phil been left to fend alone against an unexpected robber? Had Dan literally left his best friend, the one person who meant him the most in the world alone, to possibly….

He couldn't even finish the thought, breath hitching again and he couldn't keep himself together anymore, curling up against the wall, knees pulled close. He couldn't hear anything, only felt a hand on his shoulder when someone from the hospital staff noticed him, a miserable mess on the waiting room floor, his face pressed tightly against his knees and the fabric of his jeans cutting into his wet cheeks painfully as he lied on his side but felt absolutely nothing but the pain in his chest. 

“Dan,” someone shook him, a bigger hand against his shoulder, a voice breaking through the foggy panic. “Dan, come on, sit up,” It took him a while to understand the words, to make the firmness of the voice finally sink in only what felt like minutes later. Slowly, he allowed himself to be pushed up and through the bleariness of his gaze, he could pinpoint Martyn's features, the older man looking at him worriedly, but that was wrong. No, Martyn shouldn't be worried about Dan right now. His younger brother was in there, being pieced back together. He wanted Martyn to be angry at him right now, for leaving Phil alone like that, for allowing this to happen. 

“Come here,” he allowed the older Lester brother to pull him up and sit on the waiting room chair. Another set of steps soon came into the field of his senses and suddenly something red floated into his vision “Dan, drink some water,” Cornelia's voice reached him before he even realised that a paper cup was being pressed against his lips. He obeyed, taking a sip, nearly choking on it. 

He felt Martyn sit down, by his side, and Cornelia's warm arms wrapping around his shoulders and a soothing hush near his ear. He felt the comfort of being surrounded by those who cared just as much as he did. By people who truly wished for this night to be just a nightmare. 

“I-I'm so sorry,” he finally managed to mutter after a while once he had been coaxed into drinking some more water and when his tears had been dried with a rough paper towel “I s-should have-- should have been th-there,” he hiccupped before he pressed the cup against his lips again, hands trembling so hard that he nearly spilled the water until he bit into the side of the cup, angry. Angry at himself and whoever had done this. 

“It's not your fault, Dan,” he felt Martyn's slightly trembling hand on his shoulder, the other man's voice a lot steadier than his own but he could feel the strained edge. Cornelia was sitting next to him, holding his other hand, tightly, in both of hers and Dan could only imagine that it was her support that allowed Martyn to keep his composure in the situation. 

“I called mum, she and dad will arrive as soon as they can get on the first flight to London,” It was clear, the part left out was that she had been devastated by the news. “Should we call your family too?” Cornelia asked tentatively. Dan just shook his head “I- no, its not their business,” he dismissed the idea, and somehow it really didn't feel like it was the business of Howells, no, this was Phil and the only reason Dan was here was because he had been given the privilege of basically becoming a part of the Lester family all those years ago.

Years. 

It felt like centuries had passed since the two had first met, all shy at first though they had talked on Skype for hours to no end. Two dumb boys with similar, too emo haircuts, the time when Dan had to look upwards to see Phil's face properly and when they didn't know how long and rich of a time was in front of them. As colleagues, as best friends, as lovers. They had become a family and through all the hardships they had remained together.

All that past, all the future still ahead of them that was on the verge of being taken away. 

Dan sat there, frozen, teeth digging into the paper of the cup, eyes staring at the white floor unseeing. It felt like he had aged, suddenly, by twenty years, realising how much was on the line on this fateful night. 

The sound of the door opening made him bolt upright, the empty cup clattering on the floor and instantly forgotten. A man, in his late forties but already with a clearly graying hairline, had emerged from the operation hall and was now looking up at the three people in front of him.

“He'll live,” the first words washed over them like the biggest relief and Dan had to sink back into the seat. For the first time since the call he could breathe in properly, though the action hurt and made him dizzy “He got lucky, the blade missed his heart and any important arteries by a good centimeter, but his left lung suffered damage to the top part,” he could feel his chest clenching at those words as he watched the greying man “We had to medically induce a coma, he hit his head quite strongly upon the fall, so it might take a while for him to come through it. His status is, however, stable currently.”

Martyn released a relieved sigh while Cornelia hugged him close “Thank you,” he breathed and Dan couldn't remember the time that he would have heard Martyn so relieved. It caused another pang of guilt in Dan.

“We're not sure how soon he will wake up, however,” the man said, after a brief hesitation “He was in a very critical state when he came in, and his body will need a long time until it can finally repair itself. We lost him for half a minute.'' 

It was then that his mind zoned out and the absolute blankness took over.

He had almost lost him. 

He _had_ lost him, even if briefly.


	2. Ubi mors ibi spes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil's in the intensive care, and the police has some questions for Dan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as promised, here is an update! :D Hope you enjoy! <3
> 
> For more updates and random stuff you can find me at etoilesdephan.tumblr.com :)

The sight of the machines surrounding Phil, beeping lowly, their wires and sensors attached to the pale body wrapped in the white of medical plasters, bandages and hospital gown was a sight that Dan never wished to experience. He recalled the time when Phil had stayed by his side when he had been in the hospital, and he hadn't been able to imagine how it felt, but the realisation hit him like a ton of solid bricks the moment he stepped behind the curtains. 

It was a helpless feeling, to watch the machine that supported Phil's breathing part his unnaturally pale lips to allow a tube to pass. It was the pain of worry of what if it would not have a happy ending. It was the insufferable knowledge that the intensive care staff would make him leave within an hour or two and he wouldn't know how Phil was until the next time he would be allowed back in.

A nurse surveyed the group of five when the Lesters and Dan piled in and shook her head “No more than two visitors at a time,” and, as if sensing the panic that set between them, repeated, more clearly “Two at a time, you all have two hours in total to visit him,” and though Dan wanted to scream and hold on, to not leave Phil's side, he dryly swallowed and stepped back, allowing the parent pair Lesters to go first. It was their son, and no matter what place Dan would take in Phil's life, he knew their family almost better than his own, knew how much they cared for each other. He had no right to interfere, no matter how much it would pain him to spend longer time away and in the darkness of unknown.

“Excuse me,” A voice caught him off-guard and he realised two people, both wearing neat police uniforms, were staring at him “Officer Bloom and Starley.” A document was flashed before him just long enough to see the official coat of arms ”We would like to ask you a couple of questions about what happened last night. I take it you _are_ Daniel Howell.”

''Y-yes of course,'' Dan stuttered out and, after giving a brief look over his shoulder at Martyn and Cornelia who just nodded at him, turned to follow the two officers down the hall.

“Please, take a seat, this shouldn't take too long,” As if sensing Dan's frantic about somehow missing his chance to see Phil again, the female officer added while the male officer pulled out a notebook. And here Dan had thought that they would've switched to newer technologies by now.

“You and Mister Lester live together, is this correct?” He nodded, the throat dry, dark eyes trying to focus on the woman's face, the way he could see the outline of her contact lenses, “And you are the first emergency contact in his documents?” Again, he nodded, wringing his fingers together, the anxiety as if having found a permanent residence in his joints. 

“What is the nature of your relationship?” At that, he flushed bright red and the sudden rush of blood to his face made him feel dizzy again “I-I mean we're...” He scolded himself mentally at his stuttering; to think he should be over feeling like a teenager caught in a lie by now. Then again, he wasn't used to telling this to complete strangers, no matter how official “We've been together for the past four years,” he could still clearly remember the day that they had made it official, after clearly having danced around the idea for months. 

The scraping of the pen against the paper made his skin crawl “Where were you last night during the accident?” 

The guilt struck him once again and his fingers ached from the tightness of his grip “I was…. Outside. We had a fight and I left to have a walk and clear my head.” Eyes downcast, he didn't notice the two officers exchanging glances briefly. “There have been noise complaints before, is this correct?” he hated the interrogation, his heart fighting between the choices of withering and jumping out of his mouth. “Ye-yes, but it's because we do these videos,” he tried to explain, paused “For YouTube…?” his words came out in a question and his eyes looked at the officers almost pleadingly. 

His hands began to hurt, the twisting of fingers testing his joints.

“Do you know where the incident happened?” the question took him by surprise “N-no, nobody told me, I got the call when I was out still and have been here ever since.” 

And that was when he realised that he had been told that someone had called the ambulance in. And who would do that if that had happened in their apartment?

His heart sank “It happened about a block from your shared apartment,” the words came like an accusation, though spoken neutrally, and for a moment he forgot to breathe. 

It was his fault.

Phil had followed him out. 

He would be sleeping soundly at home, about to wake up and eat all of their cereal again if Dan hadn't stormed out.

Before he realised it, his hands had found his head and he leaned forward, hugging it, shaking his head a little, trying to squish his ears shut “No, no….” he muttered, distressed, the sinking feeling in his chest increasing, a black hole forming in his soul and sucking away all life.

“I think you should continue another time,” he heard Martyn's voice and he couldn't thank him enough for stopping this torture. 

He had caused this. 

Phil was in coma, patched up after being stabbed. 

Because of him and his stupid tantrums.

“Dan, can you handle seeing him now?” his head shot up, eyes red-rimmed and surprised “I think I need to keep mum company for a bit so you go first, Cornelia and I will go afterwards,” the reassuring smile reminded Dan so much of Phil that he had to take a moment to answer, but finally he nodded. A sleeve rubbed against his eyes to clear the dampness, he croaked a thank you and turned to leave the two officers who were now standing aside, talking quietly among themselves over the notes.

It didn't matter, not now.

He gave a weak smile to Phil's mum when she looked up and she returned it just as weakly. 

Then, he was suddenly surrounded by whiteness, the sterile scent of the stale air and the silence of bodies, each hidden behind a curtain and a nurse patrolling between the patients to ensure that everything was peaceful. Dan felt foreign in the room, all clad in black, like the death itself amongst the hopeful survivors. 

It was like slow motion when he walked up to Phil's bed, now alone with his best friend for the first time since they had yelled and glared at each other. The things that he had said, had thought in that fit of anger were replaying in his brain and he had to try hard not to start crying again. 

He'd never seen Phil look so broken. Though mainly intact, there was an unnatural stillness in his limbs, his skin looked paler than it ever had and his hair was an unfamiliar mess, with signs of where his mother had attempted to fix it, even if only a little bit. 

The chest, though not completely motionless, didn't look natural in the rise and fall. It made Dan want to reach out, to place his hand over Phil's heart like he had done so many times, but never had it been to confirm that he was alive, and the mere thought of this need to check made him feel so very helpless.

“Hey, Phil,” he murmured barely above a whisper, standing over by the bed, trying not to trip over any of the wires. Carefully, he reached out to grasp Phil's fingers, and for a moment he hoped that he would feel them tense, Phil trying to hold on back, but there was nothing. The fingers remained cold and motionless in his touch. 

It hurt. For the first time in his life he felt as if Phil was rejecting him, and that was with all the fights that they had had, even at their lowest. 

The sharp cheekbones jutted out more visibly than ever, just above the medical equipment that Dan didn't even bother to try and name anymore, and he reached out, brushing his fingers over the pale skin, longing to kiss every barely visible freckle on that face and for that feeling of when Phil leaned into his palm even in his sleep. He wished that the other man would awaken and that they could make jokes about how dumb and ghost-like Phil looked in the hospital gown, and to plan what to have for dinner as soon as Phil would get out. 

When he would get out. That seemed like such a foreign idea now. The thought of Phil warming up the familiar spaces again seemed so far-away, though he was sure that if Dan would return home right now, there would still be the lingering scent of blown-out candle lingering the air and the half-finished cup of coffee on the office table.

Dan's teeth raked over the lower lip, biting down painfully.

“I'm so sorry, Phil, please, please,” he sunk to his knees by the bed, resting his head against the side of the white, scratchy cotton, all whilst holding onto the limp fingers of the older man “Please, don't leave me,” his voice, usually so loud, had completely lost the volume, the usual joy that it held around the other man, as if it was left to sleep in coma alongside Phil.

And it was then that he began to realise that he was tired as well. Though uncomfortable, the position began to lull him and he leaned a little closer to kiss the top of Phil's palm lightly “I love you,” he murmured against the skin, dark eyes shut and too tired to reopen. His knees ached, his back did too, but he didn't want to leave. No, he had made that mistake and look at where it had gotten them. He feared that as soon as he would leave Phil would be gone, forever, and Dan knew that his life would fall apart without a moment to wait if that happened.

The moment came, however, when he had to leave. His head bowing in sleep as missis Lester lead him to the cab; it was agreed that the Lester parents would stay with Dan for a few days and he had drowsily agreed, unable to imagine going to an empty apartment alone and Martyn's and Cornelia's being too small to fully house two more grown people at the time. 

The feeling of home was extremely overwhelming, the scent stronger than ever, the silence more piercing than he remembered it. The lights had been left on, noting where they had been before. 

There was a stray sock in the hallway, colourful and clearly Phil's, probably accidentally kicked out of the older man's room when he had rushed out of the house after grabbing his coat. Dan picked it up, slowly, unsurely walking towards Phil's room. The door creaked when pushed open; he remembered Phil musing out loud that they should oil it eventually. They never had.

The room felt empty, but still so very distinctively Phil, with all the colourful little things scattered across the surfaces, and the random pieces of clothing strewn around the floor. Numbly, Dan set the sock on the shelf, eyes tiredly surveying the room. There was the book that Phil had begun reading just a couple of days ago, on the nightstand. And there was light breaking through the blinds that Phil had closed last because it had been night.

Slowly, Dan lied down in Phil's bed, bunching the blanket up and close to his face, inhaling the familiar scent. It could almost make him believe that everything was fine and Phil was here. 

Almost.

He had never felt colder than this.


	3. Somnum Exterreri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: BLOOD, GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF BLOOD, MENTION OF VOMIT

“Hey Phil,” Dan threw a balled up paper at Phil across the living room, the Manchester sky slowly turning darker behind the window and colouring their living room in the evening hues. It hit the older man in the head, making him jump in surprise only to grab the paper and throw it back at Dan who nearly slid off the small sofa while trying to avoid it. “What is it, Dan?” There was a fond chuckle in Phil's deeper tone, and Dan felt like something melted a little on the inside of his chest cavity.

“Nothing, pass me the Maltesers.” To that Phil rolled his eyes, mouthing how that wasn't nothing, but he still reached over to the kitchen counter, trying to reach the package of sweets without leaving the comfort of his own sofa where he'd been sitting and playing Pokemon. 

Dan, a small crooked smirk on his face, observed the line of exposed skin where Phil's shirt rode up. His gaze was caught though and Phil arched a brow, amused smile on his own lips and blue eyes sparkling mischievously “Enjoying the view?” He teased and Dan looked down and at his laptop's screen, cheeks crimson “Don't flatter yourself, I'm not infatuated by you,” He lied only to yelp when the much heavier pack of Maltesers hit his shoulder “Sure you aren't.”

He saw a quick wink (albeit a bit awkward; Dan had learned quite early on that Phil was terrible at winking, his both eyes closing too much), before Phil looked back down at his game.

Dan ripped the package open, looking out through the window. From where he sat, he could mostly just see the sky and it was peaceful “Who would think that the sky above a prison of all places could look so nice.”

“Hm?” Phil looked up from the game again, eyes idling on the screen for a bit longer before he looked at Dan and then out the window “What would you expect to see above a prison then?”

“I don't know, Sauron's eye and hellfire?” Dan laughed and Phil joined, though while shaking his head “It's probably crazy enough on the inside, no need to affect the scenery more,” Dan hummed to that, nodding and his eyes returned to the screen. 

It was peaceful between them, always had been and Dan loved it. To think that he would find real home in Manchester? 

Part of him knew that it wasn't Manchester that did it for him though.

“Hey Dan,” Dan jumped, eyes wide open when Phil was suddenly right next to him, staring at him, very focused. “Wha- how-- Phil??” He blinked, setting the laptop aside carefully, unable to look away from his friend who seemed to have suddenly materialised right next to him somehow without making the slightest noise. Phil, the clumsy guy, who always managed to make a lot of noise even when sitting in the corner, preoccupied.

“Oh Dan, why did you do it?” Phil asked and the low baritone had smoothed completely, the lack of a little scratchiness making the hair on the back of Dan's neck stand up. “What did I do?” He questioned, dark brown eyes unable to look away from the enticing blues, as Phil kept leaning closer. There was something really off about how Phil was staring, how the skin around his eyes looked grey and unhealthy, how the black hair was pushed back differently from the usual fringe that the other man sported. 

The fingers that locked around his wrist were ice cold and he shivered, the feeling starting at the nape of his neck and ending somewhere near his tailbone. 

“Why, oh why, and over something so stupid, too,” That's when he felt it, the cold, rough handle and he tried to pull his hand away, finally looking down, where the blade of a knife was spilling blood across Phil's chest, painting the shirt crimson. 

A scream, blood-hurling sound escaped his throat, and he jerked back, away, trying to stay away from Phil as the blood began to spill from his parted lips, gurgling as the older man breathed a laugh, drowning in the sound.

Sharp pain shot through his head and his eyes snapped wide open, breath heavy, gasping. The view before him was the dimming light of the evening against Phil's white ceiling. His legs were tangled in the sheets, pulled off the bed when he had fallen, head-first, onto the carpeted floor.

It was just a nightmare. A terrible nightmare painting over the calm Manchester memory. 

The smell of iron and heat of pouring blood entered his memory again and he gagged, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. 

Suddenly, the room door opened, light pouring in from the apartment hallway. He instantly looked over, senses too heightened to function normally and it took him a couple of moments until he realised that it was Phil's mum, asking if he was alright, and looking down at him concerned, a few steps into the room as if unsure if she was allowed to come closer.

“Y-yeah, just a bad dream,” He pushed himself to sit up, rubbing the back of his head where a headache was blooming, rubbing fingers through the curly hair. 

“Oh, dear,” She spoke in the way that only mothers could and kneeled next to him, wrapping her arms around him “I know it's hard, but he'll pull through,” He leaned into the hug, lightly returning it. “He has too much to live for still, and they patched him up well.” Though the words were spoken to calm him, it felt like she was reassuring herself as well and he felt the tainted guilty feeling make his throat taste of the bitter acid in his stomach again. 

“He'll be fine,” He repeated, nodding again before she released him from the hug, stroking his cheek gently. He offered her a tired smile “I made some dinner, you should eat something,” He felt nauseous at the mere idea of food but nevertheless nodded, thankful for her care “I'll jump into the shower first.”

“Alright, darling.”

His limbs felt weak as he crawled into the tub and began the water, the cool drops turning hot and lapping at his sweat-covered skin soothingly. He still felt the bitter taste on his lips, couldn't get rid of the looming memory of the the smell and sight of blood. So much blood. He'd never actually seen it, but he could imagine. Phil had never been this pale. 

The memory of the cold touch. The feel of the handle. It all felt too real. 

Dan knew that it hadn't been him who did it, of course. He never held the knife, never put it through Phil's chest. He had just gone out for a walk to cool off, to not say something that he would regret...

When he sat by the dining table, he could only stare at Phil's favourite seat. The food was pushed around for a little bit before completely forgotten on the plate. 

He could just try to imagine that Phil was away for a couple of days, on a trip up North or visiting another place with family. Yet he couldn't, for there were the two silent parents, seated across from him, eyes once in awhile looking at him, sometimes at the chair, other times - back at the food. The air was still, as if mournful. He couldn't fool himself that everything was fine and it wouldn't be until he saw Phil sitting there again, making some god-awful pun about pepperonis or talking about weird animal that he had found online today. 

There was no normality without Phil, safe and sound, somewhere in the world.

=====

It was about a week after the surgery that Phil had finally been moved out of the intensive care and into a private room where the visiting hours weren't nearly as limited. 

That, however, did not put Dan's mind at rest. 

There had been no sign of Phil waking up, though the brain scans were perfectly reassuring, or so the doctors had said. Dan stayed by his side every day, sometimes playing music lowly, to keep Phil up to date with the pleasant new tunes, sometimes he read a few pages from Phil's book, so he wouldn't lose the place where he had been in the story (He never removed Phil's own bookmarked spot though, it was a little certainty of unfinished business that Dan kept reminding himself and occasionally to Phil to come back to and wake up soon again) and sometimes he just sat there silently, trying to occupy his restless mind by trying to figure out a new video (Their channels had been left without any new content, and there was the logical part of Dan, worried about maintaining their income), doing the paperwork that Phil usually took care of, playing a game on his phone.

A small, old TV was available in the room but after turning it on and seeing a crime show that talked about recent local crimes committed in London, he had quickly shut it off and had never touched the remote ever since.

Every now and then he would just sit close by, resting his head on the side of the bed, gently stroking Phil's hand, murmuring softly, telling Phil about the well-being of his plants and the state of mismatched socks. Sometimes he would lose it though, and he would cling to the other man gently, afraid that the weak body would crumble under too much pressure, low apologies and love muttered against Phil's side and it hurt Dan more than anything, for Phil, he knew, was so ticklish, and he missed the laughter and playful pushes to make Dan stop.

As the days ticked by, it became a routine. One that Dan loathed, as, though he spent time with Phil, it was far from the same. Dan found himself re-watching Phil's last videos to not forget the small specifics of Phil's voice, the way he moved, the way the skin around his eyes would crinkle when he genuinely smiled. 

Every time that he did, he had to bite back the tears when he looked up and saw the motionless Phil laying there, so different from the AmazingPhil persona that he was watching on the screen.

The same police officers had stopped by a few times, asked questions, gave him a small detail here and there sometimes, then left Dan to succumb to the darkness in his own mind. The Lesters had eventually gone back up North, where work and other duties still remained. It was mostly Dan there, Martyn and Cornelia visiting every other day, at first a little surprised to find Dan there every time without a miss, but soon getting used to the idea so much that they began checking in on Phil through Dan.

The viewers began to get antsy, but that wasn't that unusual, what with their upload schedule, it was normal that a few weeks had gone by without much new content. The problem was also the Twitter silence, and though they didn't make it a habit to post too much on any social media, it was still becoming apparent to the viewers, that the silence had stretched out for too long. Dan made a small update here and there, replied some @s, avoided the people speculating about “Secret Phan wedding” and them being quiet because “They are on their honeymoon”. 

Those comments, though at times annoying, were the only thing that could make him laugh now. Even if the laughter was a faint ghost of true cheer. 

=====

The knocking, heavy, on his door startled him awake from where he was curled up on Phil's bed, his permanent sleeping spot ever since the first night back. The nightmares were still there. Sometimes painting over pleasant memories, only to viciously hit him straight on the other times. It took absolute exhaustion for Dan to fall asleep, but he had found that the nightmares would haunt him a lot less when he stayed curled in the green and blue covers, mushing his head in one pillow while hugging the other close as if it could replace the absence of real body heat. 

Another bang against the door made him finally regain his consciousness and, groggy and messy from the sleep he finally got out of the bed. There was a sense of urgency again, but something in him made him move slowly. 

He became aware of his own room door being ajar, the black and white theme a pleasant reminder of success that had followed him miraculously. The little nicks and scratches on the walls in the hallway reminded him of all the shenanigans that required them to move the lighting equipment around. 

His eyes wandered on as he kept walking, each step taken as if in slow motion. The sight of the kitchen where they had shared a lot of memories whilst cooking dinner and discussing the plans for the day over bowls of lazy cereal. The lounge, one place that was truly theirs. Everything they owned mixing together and nothing was his or that, it was all theirs, a sense of belonging in every corner of the room. 

He noted the slightly yellowing leaves of one of Phil's plants, reminding himself to water it later that day. 

Dan stopped when he looked up at the office and his throat stung. It had been the last place that he'd seen Phil awake. The exchange had been harsh, and he had _shoved_ Phil. He looked at the closed door for a while, wishing to take back that moment. What would he not give to wrap his arms around Phil and to feel Phil's around his own waist. 

The knocking continued and finally he walked down the stairs, noticing crowding by the door through the glass. For a moment he considered not opening, spooked by the sudden amount people attempting to aggressively pour into their apartment. A voice, however, familiar one though not in the most pleasant way, muttered something and, brows knit together he neared the door.

Why would officer Bloom be here? Had they found the attacker? 

A hope suddenly filled his limbs. Maybe they really had found the culprit. Maybe they would get to serve some justice now. He felt his heart in his throat, palms sweaty when he opened the door. Suddenly he was shoved back, hands grabbed by the wrists and before long he felt the solid surface of the wall pressed against his face as a strong grip held him against it.

“Daniel Howell, you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Philip Lester.”


	4. Mens Rea

“You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” The words still echoed in his head as he sat in the narrow cell, heavy metal handcuffs binding his arms still. 

He was pale, numb. They accused him of an attempted murder. They accused _him_ of trying to stab his best friend, the person that he shared absolutely everything in his life with. Someone without whom Dan was sure he wouldn't be here in the first place anymore.

Phil had originally saved him and now they were accusing him of trying to take this all away from both of them. Even at his most jealous Dan could never imagine harming Phil. 

He put his head in his hands, pushing the balls of his palms against his eyes, where the headache had found a permanent residence. This whole situation was fucked up. He couldn't believe it. He'd thought that police was trustworthy, that they would find the real criminal. 

Now it was him sitting here, shackled and trapped and Phil's plant won't be watered for another day. He didn't want to let it die. It didn't deserve to go. 

Why couldn't just do things right?

Why did he have to mess everything up like this and at a cost of others?!

=====

“Can you tell us where were you the night of the attack?” he felt uncomfortable under the gaze of the two police investigators, sat in the dimly-lit room where they had brought him from the small cell. “I told you, I was out on a walk,” he frowned, feeling his whole face sag a little with the motion. He was tired and he felt how the eyes were watching him carefully. He was physically shackled, and he was mentally tortured.

“Why were you walking at 2 in the morning?” he eyed the small recording device on the table, and he tried his best to remain calm “Phil and I had a disagreement and I wanted to clear my head.” He felt the bitter taste of guilt on his lips when he spoke those words, and his eyes, despite Dan willing differently, looked away from the investigator and down at his own hands in his lap. Though he knew it wasn't his fault, he still felt responsible for what happened.

“We investigated your apartment,” he looked up again at that, the mild surprise washing over his features before he nodded in understanding. He'd watched enough crime drama to be aware that warrants in such cases were probably easy to get. 

A photo was pushed towards him, and his chest tightened when he saw the familiar layout of their kitchen. When another photo was set next to the first one, however, his eyes widened a little, and he understood what they were getting at.

“We discovered several of the kitchen knives missing, could you explain it?” he drew in a breath and subconsciously scolded himself when he felt it hitch briefly. “They-- we-- I think we lost one and the other one broke?” he just remembered that the two holsters had been empty for months now, with at times him, and at other times - Phil, mentioning that they really should order some replacement ones.

They never had. 

“I see,” the voice was clear; they didn't believe him. His heartbeat made him want to choke, it was worse than the feeling after even the most insane sprint to catch the bus. “So you don't know where they can be found now?”

“Of course not! The dumpster, perhaps, for one?” he tried to vocalise his shock, only ending up sounding more frantic than he wished to.

“I see,” the words sounded like a death sentence.

=====

“Howell, up!” the bored but stern voice of the guard broke the endless questions pouring through his mind and he looked up, the stars dancing in front of his vision before it cleared after several hard blinks. 

“Your lawyer,” a word he'd hated for long years, a profession he had abandoned early on and yet, now he was relieved to see the man in the suit. He could see the tired but determined stare through the rimmed glasses that the man wore, and there was a glimmer of hope that sparked in Dan's soul. This man had chosen the profession or was more fit for it than Dan had ever been. 

It was, however, when the man spoke, that a shiver ran down his spine “Good day, Mister Howell, I am Godfrey McAlister and I have been hired to defend you in the attempted murder case. Now, if you would follow me,” Dan hadn't even realised that the cell door had been unlocked to let him step out again, and it all felt like he was in one of those criminal investigation shows that he and Phil had enjoyed watching once in awhile. It was very much like the shows, too, the guard by the door of a small room with a low-hanging light and two chairs on either side of the single table. 

The handcuffs remained around his wrists, a dark reminder of the reality, more than anything else. He was bound by law, he was accused by it, he was fighting handicapped though he had a better equipped sidekick.

“I have your case here,” a thin folder was set on the table between them and Dan looked at it cautiously, the few pieces of paper that he could see the edges of making him uneasy, but the lawyer continued on “All the current evidence is against you, so we will need to find anything that we can to clear your name, or at least reduce the sentence.”

His throat went dry, his head dully ached but he still nodded, mutely.

“The witnesses say that mister Lester--” The official tone made him feel dizzy, sick “Phil,” he corrected the man, and he looked back, when the older man's eyes surveyed him over the rim of his glasses “Phil,” he repeated slowly before opening the folder “Was found in a close proximity of your domicile after what's been described as “Loud and unpleasant, recurring arguments”,” The sound of rustling paper as the main page was set aside, containing the general information about Dan and the suggested crime, felt too loud inside Dan's skull “And your phone location was tracked to about 980 meters from the crime scene about 15 minutes after the accident.” 

Dan leaned back in the chair, the hardwood pressing painfully against his back and he stared, unseeingly, at the dark surface of the table. 

He'd been nearby. 

He had been just a bit over a block away from Phil when he'd been attacked, and he hadn't realised it. 

The thought that he might've passed the attacker was overwhelming and he tried to recall the faces of those he'd seen that night. Conjured up the image of blood-soaked hands and expression of no remorse. 

Nothing had been stolen. It couldn't have been random.

It couldn't. And that, Dan realised, was what made his situation so much worse.

“Neither of the areas seem to have video surveillance, so unless you know someone who could support your alibi, the chances are that you will be sentenced until further notice.” 

“There must be something,” Dan finally managed out, eyes still downcast, brows furrowed and he tried to think of the ways to help himself but all of his thoughts were with Phil. What if he woke up while Dan was here? What if instead of waking he would….

He drew in a shaky breath, earning another surveying glance from the lawyer and Dan looked up, dark brown eyes pleading, knuckles turning white with the intensity of his curled digits against his palm, voice tinted with desperation “I would never hurt him. Yes, we fought but I could never...” Though always so articulate, words failed him now “God, Phil is my whole world, without him--”

“Without him you would inherit 50% of his savings and majority of his belongings,” papers were shifted again and Dan looked at the man, appalled by what he was hearing “Additionally due to your circumstances, you would receive an impressive sum from his insurance.” A page was pushed towards him, but he didn't look down at it, just placed his open palms against the hardwood surface of the table, leaning forward a little “Do you really think I was ever with him for the money?” His voice, unexpectedly stable, was still harsh and he breathed in heavily “Do you really think that I rushed to the hospital when I got the news only to collect a bloody check for whatever he would leave me?” his voice shook, the anger finally winning over the shock and worry “Do I look like that kind of a person to you?!”

He hadn't realised when he'd stood up until he saw the other man rise from his seat as well “Please, sit down, mister Howell, I am here to defend, not to accuse you. We must look at all the facts so we can determine the outcome and ensure that you are released as soon as it's possible.”

He slumped back down, the chain between his wrists jingling in a similar annoyance as that he felt. 

“Let's continue then,” He nodded sharply at that.

“Currently you are up for, according to section 1 of the Criminal Attempts Act 1981, a life sentence,” He felt all the colour drain from his face, eyes wide, his heart nearly stopping.

“However, the lack of solid evidence and the the proof of _mens rea_ would mean that they may only sentence you for 10 years for one count of attempted homicide until the victim can give their witness statement or you are otherwise proven innocent.” Or guilty. The words didn't even need to be said out loud.

Ten years. He was facing ten bloody years of jail time for a crime he didn't commit. Ten years of losing absolutely everything in his life. 

“I don't even have a degree,” he laughed, weakly, no humor in the sound “In ten years I will be nothing in the society, they might as well lock me up for good.” A hot tear rolled down his cheek but he didn't bother to wipe it away, his mind wandering off, not really hearing anything else of what the lawyer was saying.

In one fight he had lost everything that mattered, or so he had thought at first. Now, though, for sure, his whole life had been thrown under the wheels of a bus. 

He always knew that he could count on Phil. He really did. But it was the darkness of his mind that sucked up that hope. He couldn't be there for Phil now, he hadn't been there for the past months, not in the way that they used to be. If he couldn't be there, how could he expect Phil to save him, like he had always done ever since they had met?

And what if he never woke up? 

The thought killed Dan, and he rolled around, wide awake, on the small cell bunk that night, unable to sleep. His heartbeat was in his head, blocking every surrounding sound, and filling the dark corners of his cell with demons. He hated the darkness, he always had. He missed the fairy lights on his headboard, he missed the lines of the streetlights breaking through the blinds and into his room, or on the occasion into Phil's. He missed that feeling of bright light that was always there when he woke up wrapped up in the other man, the two of them too warm from all the body heat and blankets.

The day of the trial was the worst. He hadn't slept much, dark circles making his brown eyes seem sank deep within his skull and his cheeks hollow-looking from the lack of nutrition, as, though he had been fed, his stomach rejected most of the meals soon after. 

His parents, brother, had visited. So had the Lesters. Everyone was shocked at first, but Dan thought that he saw the doubt begin to press into their minds. Even then, the words had been supportive ones, though the visits had thinned across the days, and he noted the absence of first, his brother, then his father, the slight discomfort of Phil's relatives who knew him less, sent to be checked up on by Phil's immediate family when they couldn't make it. 

He didn't blame them, though, he was a strange guy that had suddenly come into Phil's life, accepted as a family, yet barely anyone knew him. Now Phil was in a coma and he understood when their suspicious glances and questions began to show, and it dug into his soul.

He had clean clothes, his mother forcing him to comb his hair a bit, too, now a complete curly mess that he'd usually be annoyed by when out in the public. He had people who were to vouch for him. He had a lawyer that had assured him many times that his sentence would be small, though it was impossible to promise none.

His case made him numb, though originally angry. It was soon that he understood by the size of the courtroom that this was nothing like the movies. The courtroom was a small one, not one of the fancy ones that he had heard and seen so much of. His, _their_ , case wasn't that big and there were only a handful of people who were there, who truly cared and knew, or tried to understand.

The gavel echoed within his skull. He spoke when spoken to. He listened when required to. He stood and sat down like a trained dog.

A full day of proof, witness statements, facts and their questioning turned into a giant blur in his head. Dan had to try his best to not let his knees give in.

“Daniel James Howell, I hereby sentence you to eight years in prison. This sentence may be reviewed upon the request of the victim themselves or victim's family upon Mr. Lester's awakening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for any inaccuracies in the legal process; I tried my best to do the research before writing this chapter <3


	5. Inustitia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Graphic mentions of blood. Anxiety.

“Turn left,” a gruff, bored voice spoke to him, but he didn't hear it, shoulders hunched and expression ragged as he stared at the camera in front of him, but his mind was somewhere far away. Somewhere on the other side of the city that he'd considered his home, the place of success and where his life had been going steadily up.

Now he stood here, dressed head to toe in the dark grey prison uniform issued to him as soon as he had crossed the threshold.

It was all like a bad nightmare and he had no strength left to wake up from it. It was like having an anchor tied to his ankle and he was slowly walking towards the deep end of the pool while everyone just watched him.

“Turn left, inmate!” the tone, louder and harsher, finally resonated with his mind and, numbly, he shuffled his feet to turn his body. He felt like he was swaying. His head felt detached from his other limbs, floating somewhere above his neck and controlling the rest of his body robotically.

He hadn't even realised at which point the photos had been finished and when his fingertips had been stained by the black ink for taking fingerprints. Somewhere idly in the back of his mind, better days were still trying to humour the fact of how behind the prison technology was, but it never reached the front plan of his mind. There hadn't really been a moment to prepare for this. It was a blur between the gavel and the trip to the prison, there were no other stops in between. He only remembered his family, Lesters included, talking to him, regarding him, there had been protesting and an apology from the lawyer though it hadn't been too genuine-sounding.

Before he knew it, he was surrounded by the soulless concrete walls of his new home and he felt his skin crawl as the coolness of the surroundings embraced his arrival.

So many jokes had been laughed at, back in the days of Manchester, now they crawled under his skin and the feeling made him want to pull the skin on his arms off, to rid himself of the prickles.

“Blanket, toothbrush, toothpaste,” the things were listed as they were placed into his arms “Additional privileges are awarded based on your performance here,” he felt some other items placed onto the blanket he was holding, before he was lead through the hallways, full of metal bars and that grey mouldy stench that only moisture mixed with the dirty scent of cement could create. He could hear the voices, muttering and eyes looking at him and he felt the disgusting feeling of being too exposed. He longed for one of his bigger hoodies, the soft blanket, the warm side of Phil to lean into.

Phil.

Finally he croaked out “When are the visiting hours? And phone calls?” He saw the look that the guard gave him, pressing his lips together thinly “You may make one call per week, the visitors are in two days.”

He nodded, obediently. That was also when they stopped, the jingling of the keys and the sound of metal scraping against metal loud. “Settle in and follow the orders as they come.”

He stepped inside the cell and looked up to see the other two guys in the small room watching him with mild curiosity that made Dan want to step right back out. “Behave,” the guard reminded and it was then that Dan realised that the door had been locked up behind him, and it was then that the reality of what had happened hit him.

He was in prison. He was an actual convict, unjustly. His whole life had been stripped off and he was left with a lousy selection of basic necessities in a small room with two other people.

Anxiety poured into his limbs and he momentarily forgot how to breathe.

Though he was usually seen as good with people these days, there was a strong sense of social anxiety that he felt whenever he was faced with someone new, especially when he was on his own. Fans had been one thing, they were always kind of predictable; some small talk, a photo, a hug at most and soon they would part ways.

This was completely different.

“Are you gonna stand there and stare at me all day?” he realised that he had been staring at one of the guys then and quickly averted his gaze, trying his best not to trip as he crossed the small room and sat down on the bed, holding his few possessions still. He kept looking down at the brush, noting the cheap brushes' hair already uneven though not used before.

He felt the presence before he saw it, and dared to look up as the other guy, his _cellmate_ , leaned against the wall between their beds, arms crossed over his chest “What are you in for?” he'd expected the question, sooner or later, but he felt the bile burning his throat at the mere thought of pronouncing his sentence. “Are you mute or something?” there was a humour, rough, in the voice and he frowned, finally properly looking up, right at the scarred features of the other man “Attempted murder.”

“Oi, Larry, this one's down your lane,” instantly the man turned to look over his shoulder at the guy whose name was apparently Larry, the same one who Dan had stared at before accidentally “Attempted is not committed,” was the answer that followed and Larry flipped over the page of the book that he was reading, not even bothering to look over at the other two men.

“Look out, they might think it's a confession,” the lankier man, one who felt too close to Dan, chuckled and Dan felt his skin crawl. “Spike, in for several counts of armed robbery,” the man introduced himself and Dan nodded to that, curtly, wishing that Spike would leave. And even more so wishing that the name didn't make him think about the silly names that Phil used to give his plants based on his lifelong love for Buffy. He was sure that there was a lone succulent somewhere in Phil's bedroom with the exact same name.

“Got a name, murder boy?” he felt the acid rising from his stomach and he set his stuff aside at the foot of his bed. “Dan,” he muttered before he lied down, turning his back to Spike, hoping that it would be enough of an indication that he didn't want to continue the conversation. His heart was still beating too fast, too loudly, his breaths were hard to maintain steady, and he tried his best to not let himself freak out more than the feeling that already was settled in his bones.

There was a scoff, a chuckle “Too soft, murder boy, you're gonna have a tough time here.''

It was when the springs of another bed squeaked that he knew that he had been left alone and he curled up a bit, pressing his face into his hands.

 _Murder boy_ kept echoing in his mind.

=====

The blood was dripping, pouring endlessly between his fingertips as he tried to press down on the open wound. “No, no, no,” he muttered to himself, frantically, and looked around for something, anything that he could use to block the wound. There was a shirt on Phil's bedroom floor, and he quickly grabbed it, bunching it against the bleeding hole in Phil's chest, feeling the heaving, gurgling breaths beneath his hands.

He looked down, tears stinging in his eyes. He saw Phil's face, so pale, blue eyes wide in frantic as the older man was trying to mouth words but couldn't conjure a sound for them. “Just hold on, hold on a little longer, they are almost here,” and though he didn't recall it, he knew that he had called the ambulance.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, tears finally springing from the corners of his eyes and falling onto the blood-sticky hands that were trying to hold the wound shut as he supported Phil's back against his leg, trying to not let his best friend suffocate on the blood.

He felt a shiver from Phil's body, a violent jerk, and suddenly the blue eyes were glazed over.

“No, come on, stay with me, come on,” he pressed down on the wound more, the once blue shirt now stained crimson. It squelched with a gross sound when Dan's fingers curled into the fabric.

“Stay with me,” his tone begged and he could barely see anymore, the tears blurring out his vision.

He jerked awake, face wet with sweat and tears, and chest rising and falling heavily with every gasped breath. The alarms rang inside his head, and he couldn't understand where or who he was for a brief moment until his gaze focused onto the cold light pouring from the lamp attached to the ceiling.

Suddenly the reality flooded back in to him and he just lie there, trying to catch his breath. He felt the eyes on him, but there was only the makeshift silence of their half-exposed home.

A loud signal, one outside Dan's brain, filled the whole building, echoing sharply. He heard his two cellmates stand, nearing the door and he pushed himself up, limbs shaky, not entirely sure of what was happening.

“Lunch,” Spike supplied an answer without Dan asking, and he pushed himself up properly, noting the door opening and the line of guards directing the inmates downstairs and down a hall. It was like watching a bizarre movie, where he was too immersed, and he trailed between and after the other men, unsure of how he would find his way back later, but it was the least of his concerns.

The look that Larry had given him just before they had walked out still ghosted in the back of Dan's mind. He felt the fright chilling him, or perhaps it was his sweaty clothing, unable to maintain enough body heat.

He felt the eyes, saw the looks, clearly noticed by some as the new guy.

He tried to ignore them.

The tray of food before him was disappointing, the food balanced but cooked without any of the fondness that every one of their meals at home had been. He found an empty table, feeling worse than being in high school and university cafeterias had ever made him feel.

Dan understood that if he was stuck here, it was not going to be easy, but he didn't want to get involved with others. The thought of years of loneliness caused a serene smile on his tired features, cracked lips wrapping around the fork as he tried to get rid of the disgusting sensation in his stomach by swallowing a few pieces of the meal.

It was like the life before 2008. Though he had friends, he felt alone most of the time. That loneliness was half the reason why he had ended up on YouTube somewhere along the way, it was what had caused him to stumble upon the AmazingPhil channel and fall in love with the creator of it, slowly at first and then completely and undeniably as they began talking more with every passing day.

To think that he was to return to those days again.

A sigh fell from his lips and he set the fork down, resting his head into the open palm instead and running long fingers through the the curly and messy locks.

“You're new!” the statement came just before a sound of a tray dropped on the table made Dan jump, looking up at the owner of the voice. A guy, a little shorter and a little better built than him, with grey eyes and a pitch black mop of hair unceremoniously plopped down right next to Dan, a wide smile on his lips. It was eerie and Dan shifted, trying to make more space between the two.

“Oh don't be so shy, new guy,” a hand was held out towards him and Dan looked at it with mild suspicion instead of accepting it “The name's Rudy, and I feel like you could use someone to explain you more about how things are run here.” Rudy dropped his hand when it wasn't accepted, but he didn't looked bothered by it at all.

Dan regarded him for a silent moment, from the widely stretched lips to the way his eyes were full of life and how his shoulders were perfectly relaxed. The absolute opposite from how Dan felt.

“Dan,” his lips parted before his brain caught up and his tone came out a lot more confident than he felt.

“Dan,” Rudy repeated with a nod before leaning onto the table and grabbing his fork to start shoveling the food down his throat with a speed that made it look like he hadn't eaten in days. Slower, Dan did the same, chewing through the over-boiled vegetables and drinking the water that tasted like had been boiled yesterday and left in the kettle overnight.

“So what do you know about the order around here? Bet they gave you your basic essentials and told to obey the orders, without explaining anything, eh?” Dan almost choked on the piece of carrot that he had been chewing on when the full-on enthusiastic man turned towards him again and basically described what had happened.

“Uh, yeah,” He answered and though the other man was still unnerving him, there was that part of Dan that wasn't as cynical and suspicious, that dared to think that perhaps this guy was genuinely just trying to be helpful. (And part of him had the most tense alarms ringing, screeching for him to stay away.)

As if feeling Dan's looming worries, the guy suddenly dropped his fork, downed his drink and pushed himself up, stretching his back before he flashed Dan a wide smile “Come on, I'll show you around,” At noticing Dan look over at the guards briefly, he laughed and added “We're free to roam certain sections during the lunch and a bit before dinner, relax.”

Dan hesitated for a moment longer before he noticed a few inmates emptying their trays and calmly walking out of the cafeteria.

His mind was screaming at him when, side-by-side, the two left the cafeteria and Dan felt like shrinking as they passed by the guards that eyed them suspiciously. Rudy was not once bothered by it, however and easily held a one-sided conversation, explaining about the local rules and the 'rules' between the inmates. There was a small library available, all the books strictly followed and checked with every exchange. There were the showers. There was a yard, thickly surrounded by walls and fences. There was even a small common area, though it seemed to be largely deserted save for the few guys currently scrubbing the tables.

Apparently there were duties as well, Rudy soon explained.

The words flowed through Dan's mind, at first catching up with the information, but soon enough he was completely zoning them out and it was only when they had returned to the library and Rudy waved a hand in front of his face did Dan realise that he had no idea of how much time had passed.

“I'll leave you to that, Dan,” The dark-haired man was still smiling and when he left it was like a Cheshire cat's glowing grin in the darkness that appeared to be burned into his retinas.


	6. Actus reus

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: violence, mentions of blood.

When he woke up the next day, it felt relatively calm.

Apparently they had a certain time when to wake at, but it hadn't been a problem for Dan, who had awoken in the middle of the night, another nightmare haunting him, warping his normal dreams into horror and guilty conscience. The light poured in through the small window as he sat in his bed, curled against the wall with knees close, arms wrapped around them tightly. His eyes watched as the line of light crawled across the floor until it melted into the rest of the daylight. 

His eyes stung, the tiredness evident in every blink, but he refused to sleep. He wasn't exhausted enough and he wanted to make a call today. He didn't want to miss the only chance that he had to find out how the things outside the dull prison walls were like. 

Of course, he had rationalised, if he just waited for another day, he was bound to have some visitor who would know something. But it had been the increasing loneliness in those days prior the trial, that kept him doubting. 

The faces, one by one, turning from friendly to suspicious and cold. The eventual absence of those he had trusted to stand by his side. The lack of phone calls from anyone but Louise and PJ, and a select few others. It was the absence of the truthfully hopeful feeling in his chest that didn't allow him to depend on seeing anyone, to find out what he wanted to know most.

It was the emptiness and cold of the cell that made him miss that warmth, made it impossible to wait. If there was a mere hope, he wanted to know of it. If Phil woke up suddenly, he wanted to hear his voice.

He tried to put trust into his best friend that his, _their_ , future would not go down the drain, though it was his fault that they had ended up where they were.

It was around noon that, after temporarily being assigned to some of the cleaning duty, Dan finally found his way over to the phones, where a small queue was guided by a guard who listed down every name before three minutes of conversation were given to each person. It was a frustrating wait; he was so used to the ease of using a smartphone, everyone he loved and worked with within his reach through the small device in his pocket. He hated that dependence now, though he'd made a video about being fine with it back in the day. He hated how he didn't know how to reach the hospital, that he didn't know a proper way to find the hospital contact information either, that he was so unsure about Martyn's number, but silently prayed to whatever people believed in that created and ruled the universe, that he had the right digits in his mind. 

The sound of dial was long, drawn-out, absolutely ancient-sounding and Dan's palms were sweaty as he gripped the phone to his ear. He almost dropped the handset when the line cracked and the voice of Martyn poured through the speaker “Hello?”

“Martyn,” He breathed out, and every cell in his body was grateful for the older Lester brother again. 

“Dan! How did you--”

“I have only a couple of minutes, they let us call once a week. How's Phil?” The most pressing matter spilled before he would lose his composure. 

“He's still in coma, but stable, nothing to worry about, but they still can't tell when he will wake up,” Though not the news he wished for the most, it was better than what his nightmares had supplied and he breathed out in relief, pressing his forehead against the wall. “Say, Cornelia and I will be stopping by tomorrow, and I hear your mum is coming as well. If anything changes, I will make sure to let you know. You, hold up meanwhile, okay? Don't let the prison shenanigans make you lose hope. We'll figure something out.” 

“Thank you,” he murmured, nearly inaudibly, in the receiver at the reassuring words. “Cornelia said that she has a friend who knows more and we'll be visiting her at the end of the week. We wanted to break the news after we talked to her, but it sounds like you could really use knowing that already.”

Dan only smiled. There was something soothing and friendly about the older man's voice and he drank in that peace before he knew it would inevitably be cut short.

“Martyn.”

“What is it Dan?”

“Thank you for everything you're doing and have done,” His chest was suddenly full of gratitude and he let it spill, the tiredness making his limbs feel more like jelly with every passing moment “Phil is there and yet you still take time to worry about me.”

“Of course I worry about you, Dan, you're part of the family.”

“Time's up, Howell!” The loud voice startled him and he frowned despite the warmth of the words that still remained in the back of his mind. 

“Thank you, I have to go. I'll see you all tomorrow.”

“Take care, Dan.”

======

“Watch it,” A larger and meatier shoulder hit his own when he passed a group of men, and he stumbled, looking up to apologise only to see the retreating backs of the men already and he furrowed his brows. The impact had felt hostile and yet it was over as soon as it happened and Dan rubbed his shoulder gently while making his way to the door leading to the visiting area. 

Today he would see three people whom he cared for and who seemed to care in return. The few people that he truly didn't feel abandoned by. 

“Half an hour, no touching, you will be searched upon return,” The instructions were clear and he nodded, entering the room which, thankfully was not just a seat and a phone to talk to your visitors through a glass. No, it was a proper room with tables and chairs. He could see pairs of people seated by them every few meters away from one another, having quiet conversations.

He traipsed over to one of the tables just as his mum appeared in the door at the other side of the room and he could see the restrain she had to maintain not to just run up to him and draw him into a hug. Though never too emotionally open around one another, he couldn't say that their relationship had been all bad. He found himself longing for the days from childhood where he could sometimes come up to her and curl up with his head on her lap and she would stroke his curly hair gently until he would fall asleep.

“Hey mum,” He greeted her as they took their seats and he could see her eyes observing him; he probably looked like a mess. Even at his rowdiest childish years he had been a fairly neat boy, after all. 

“Hello dear, how are you doing?” She leaned forward a little, only to rest her arms onto the table and he could see her hands wringing together. He wondered if it was the stress, and he had to try his hardest to not reach out and grasp her hand, to apologise, to try and comfort her. 

“I'm as fine as someone in a prison can be,” He tried to humour her, even managing a light chuckle and she smiled a little, but it faltered soon after. 

“Are you sleeping well?” It was a question that had become norm in the past weeks and it was strange that such a question would actually make him feel more at home than annoyed. He shook his head, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table only to rub his palms against his face and through his hair; the dark bags under his already dark eyes probably made him an eyesore to look at. 

“I can't,” He admitted, lowly “I keep worrying that he will never...” He paused, then sighed and heard her sigh as well, empathetically. 

“You should think about yourself a bit too now; we need to get you out but I don't want you to crumble before we can do that, okay?”

When he didn't look up, she demanded, softly “Look at me, Daniel,” He felt scolded, but it made him finally look up to meet a pair of eyes as dark as his own “Do it, if not for yourself then for me, for Phil, please?” Her gaze was soft and he understood that this openness didn't come easy for either of them and soon he nodded, putting his palms against the surface of the table “I promise I will try my best,” And though it made her smile, he could still see the worry behind it. 

“Hey, Dan,” Two more people poured into the room and Dan regarded them with the most genuine smile that he could muster “Martyn, Cornelia,” He greeted them with short nods and watched as the three people tried to arrange the chairs on the one side of the table as instructed without the need to literally sit in each others lap. 

“How you holding up?” Cornelia was first to speak and their conversation settled into slow, tentative questions and answers, light musing about the potential of the meeting with her friend helping him somehow. How they all wondered what would come out of this whole situation. A lot of spoken and silently exchanged thoughts about Phil. 

There was certain comfort in the slight awkwardness that hung in the air. 

But it made parting so much more real, too. 

======

“Phil, no,” He gasped, writhing in his sleep as his mind conjured the red flashing images behind the closed lids. 

It had started as a normal dream again, the two of them spending a leisure evening curled up on the sofa and watching some movie that he couldn't make out through the haze of sleep. It had been just them, the blanket thrown over the two men and Dan's head rested on Phil's side, one arm lazily draped over the older man while pale fingers were running through his hair. There was the scent of dinner still lingering in the air, there was warmth, and murmur of the tv and the city beyond the closed windows. 

There were quiet words of love muttered in the middle of a particularly longer silence. He had nuzzled against Phil's side, feeling the other man flinch a little in that familiar way when he was trying not to laugh, the action tickling. 

And then it had all gone wrong, and there was nothing left of that peace. There was blood and the sound of choking and there was a fading figure leaving the room and Dan could swear that he could hear a demonic-like laughter fill the room.

He'd woken up in cold sweat again.

The food felt tasteless and the pieces seemed to be too big no matter how much he chewed, getting lodged in his throat. Somewhere along the way Rudy had stopped by, talking endlessly without a worry that Dan wasn't listening, before departing in that same careless manner. It was only when he was setting his tray away that he was drawn out of his trance, a heavy body crashing into him, effectively shoving him and making him stumble in an attempt to not fall.

“S--” He began to apologise but was interrupted by the man who had slammed into him. 

Dan had always thought that he was too tall, and yet this man still towered over him and he had to look up to see his face properly. A face that was squared but perfectly smooth, lips a wide smile though there was none of that childishness in his eyes that Rudy carried. “And here I thought that you'd have a bit more fight in you,” Dan was puzzled at the words, and involuntarily he stepped back and away from the large man, only to see him cross the same amount of distance and not relieving Dan's discomfort “Heard you're in for trying to kill someone, and yet you're so fragile,” A hand reached out towards his face and instinctively he flinched back, bringing a hand up to shove the other man's away.

“Fussy, aren't we?” There was a thickness in the man's voice that made Dan think of a poisonous tar.

“Inmates, step aside from one another,” A voice of one of the guards was carried across the noise of the cafeteria, and Dan was relieved when the uniform-clad figure approached them. Though the eyes were set on the both accusingly, Dan felt some comfort in that. 

The other man, stepped aside, another smile offered, this time to the guard “I'm just welcoming the new kid, nothing to worry about,” And before Dan could contribute, the man left, the short golden hair catching the light from the ceiling with ease.

“You okay?” The guard asked and Dan nodded, thankful for the saving grace of law for a brief moment “Attend to your duties and steer clear from trouble.”

When he left the cafeteria, he felt the stress from the brief interaction still pumping adrenaline into his veins. He'd been fortunate, for several days he had avoided trouble, avoided having unnecessary interactions with any of the other inmates, and somewhere along the way Rudy had become a regular meal companion though his presence still unnerved Dan at times. 

This, however, was something new. He had seen the man around; he was always accompanied by several other men of his own physique and clearly was avoided by many of the prison residents. That had been a warning enough for Dan to do the same and he had been successful until now.

To have been approached by him like that felt like a bad omen.

“Well look who it is again,” Dan felt the fight or flight reflex tense his muscles when the same sickly tone suddenly appeared behind him and he whipped around, stepping backwards and away as soon as he saw that this time the giant was accompanied by his pals. 

“So quiet and easily spooked that one would think you were thrown in for crying on an officer's sandwich,” There was a laughter, on either side of the man, and Dan kept stepping back until he felt the solid wall behind him. To make things worse, he realised, it was the one of the least crowded spaces, and there were no guards in near vicinity. 

Suddenly there were fingers on his chin and he flinched back more, only to hit the back of his head against the wall, and stars sprung out into his vision for a second “Stay where you are,” he felt the grip tighten, pulling at his skin uncomfortably. “So pretty, aren't you?” It was then that Dan couldn't handle it anymore and he reached out, pushing one hand against the other man's chest while his fingers wrapped around the wrist of the hand touching his face, pulling at it “Get off me,” His voice, though raspy with the lack of use, was filled with the momentary confidence, sounding braver than he felt.

He didn't have a moment to react when two pairs of strong hands slammed him against the wall and held him there, the grip pressing down on his arms and shoulders. The stars sprung out again, the back of his head connecting with the solid concrete once more, and he felt his cheeks squished, uncomfortably, where the man's fingers dug into his face “Shouldn't have done that,” He heard the a low laughter on either side of him before a force like nothing else that he had experienced before collided with the centre of his stomach, forcing all air out of his lungs and he gasped before a hand was clasped over his mouth.

“That's for causing a scene in the cafeteria,” Another blow followed and black blotches covered his vision, unable to catch his breath “And this is for acting tougher than you are.” 

He felt the hands release him and he fell to his knees, arms wrapped around his abdomen as he gasped in a breath, painful and short. 

He couldn't remember when the three guys had left and how long had passed before he finally managed to get on his feet again, using the wall to support himself. 

There were only the lingering thoughts of the thick voice and laughter echoing inside his skull.


	7. Nolens volens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Implied abuse, Anxiety/Panic attack

‘’Are you sure about this?’’ Martyn’s words were quiet, the two men leaned over the small device on the table for the numerous time in the span of three weeks. Though time was eating away at Dan and though having this planning with Martyn broke his heart and soul every time, he felt like it was also helping. There was a sense of purpose still, and though he knew that it could not last, he held onto those moments like his life depended on it.

‘’You know Phil, he would only share the most innocent details about his life, or something that surprises him, not world news,’’ Dan waved his hand at the mobile phone that displayed the achingly familiar hues of Twitter application. He longed so much for the access to his own phone again, to just read the shittiest little updates made, at least on one social media. 

For now, he had to focus though.

‘’Who would think that updating your twitter accounts would involve such meticulous planning…’’ the older Lester sighed, picking up the phone and tapping away at the screen to save the tweet in drafts for later posting before switching to Dan’s account ‘’And I take it you don’t have anything to change in yours?’’ 

Dan shook his head and slumped backwards in the chair, tired and a little bit jealous of the other man and his freedom, but that feeling was heavily coated in the thoughts that every well-hidden bruise on his body reminded him of: he had no right to long for freedom now. He just had to try and do his best to mend the situation.

‘’Cornelia’s friend,’’ Dan suddenly remembered and he saw the slight crease that formed in Martyn’s forehead before the older man heaved a sigh ‘’They are still trying to figure a way around this. The law is quite strict in the case of comatose apparently, even if mum, dad and all of our extended family try to apply for reassessment, without Phil we can’t do much about it.’’ 

A small shiver ran through Dan’s body but he shifted to mask it and instead wrapped his arms around his body loosely ‘’So we can’t know how long...‘’ Dark brown eyes looked up to meet Martyn’s and it didn’t need any words for him to understand. They could do nothing to get him out of this forsaken place.

Silence fell between the two men and Dan longed for it to become eternal. It was easier to live in nothingness than to return back in that hell that was prison life. Though he hadn’t been punched that much, it was almost as if the time between the each attack and the dull repetitiveness of the prison routine was tearing away at him and he was losing the sense of who Dan Howell was. It felt so easy, to just think of it as being instantly cut away instead of the slow chipping of old paint that was now his life. 

The mornings when he woke up with the realisation of something new that he was missing were the worst and if it weren’t for the fact that his bed always felt so cold and stiff, he was sure that more of his days would just be wasted away under the blanket, until a guard would force him to get out.

‘’Hiatus,’’ His lips formed the word before he really found his voice and he cleared his throat before answering the questioning gaze of the older Lester brother ‘’If I am stuck here for an unknown amount of time and if we don’t know about Phil either, wouldn’t it be best to announce Dan and Phil hiatus? Just use something from the past year; we’re too tired and taking a hiatus to recharge after the tour and getting our lives sorted out.’’ 

‘’I know it will sound unrealistic,’’ He interrupted Martyn who was about to protest already ‘’But this is for the best; how many faux tweets can we compose before someone will begin to suspect something? Especially if we aren’t uploading anymore either. Even if we tried to piece together something from the bloopers that I have on my laptop for the gaming channel, it won’t work.’’ 

He watched as Martyn rubbed his face, thoughtful. Dan could almost see how the cogs were turning in his head and the moment where the shoulders of the other man slouched, even if only by a little bit, where defeat set in and he looked up again.

‘’Alright.’’ 

Though his idea was accepted, it was no victory for Dan and he had to take a moment to steady his breath before he could speak again. 

Leaning forward again, he began ‘’We have enough tweets to last us a few weeks but I think we should announce the hiatus soon…’’ 

=====

After the meeting with Martyn in which they finally had settled on the hiatus announcements, Dan found himself lying wide awake in his bed most of the nights when he wasn’t ready to succumb to the nightmares right away. The dark circles around his eyes were becoming more prominent by day, and he found himself absent-minded more often than not, only coming back to it when Rudy would again drop his tray next to Dan’s or when somebody would shove Dan against the hallway wall more harshly. It was moments when Larry and Spike would disagree on something again and raise their voices that he would realise that he had returned to the cell, locked away.

It was like he was existing but not living. He’d looked forward to those meetings, to that connection to the outside world with a lingering hope of being released soon.

Now it was only planning of how to subtly possibly end things for good.

They had always been so private about their lives, but now there was a part of Dan that wanted to yell it at the world, to tell them everything, to find a way to prove his innocence. And there was a part of him that wondered if there would be a chance of this never happening in the first place if they had been more open with their audience. 

He hated the lies, the lack of communication, because it was what eventually got them to where they were now.

To where they may never return from.

======

‘’Stop sulking in bed and get up,’’ The raspy voice of Larry broke through Dan’s consciousness and he rolled over to his side, pressing his palms against his eyes, rubbing with more vigour than was probably healthy, but he welcomed the discoloration behind the closed lids that it caused. It made him reminisce the feeling of being too drunk to focus and there were days where he missed it a lot. 

‘’You hear me?’’ He heard Larry again, but the hand on his arm was smaller than the other man’s, and soon enough he heard Spike speak up ‘’Relax, Larry. Oi, boy, get up before the guards think that you need to be forced out.’’ 

To that, Dan shook off the other man’s hand from him but obeyed, sat up, blinking repeatedly until he could make sense of the surroundings again. 

The common room was the only place where he could try to sometimes attempt to imagine normalcy again. A single screen of an old TV was attached to the wall and it was a retreat where he could still see the fake liveliness of the outside world. It was nothing like picking up the remote to watch whatever series he wanted while curled up on the sofa, but it was still something that reminded him of home and the things he was used to doing. 

This screen was usually controlled by the most intimidating one currently present in the room if they bothered to express their wishes for watching something. Most times it was some shitty reality show, a rerun of news or some old TV show that Dan couldn’t have guessed was still running on any of live channels.

His stomach poorly filled with the food aching uncomfortably, he found an empty corner to sit in, fingers picking at a loose thread of his clothing idly as he tried to melt in with the background and ignore the presence of the other inmates, especially the more familiar trio whose knuckles he’d become very intimately acquainted with. The presence of the guard near the door was enough to keep him relatively relaxed. If only for the selfish part of him that craved peace still. 

A familiar flash of a screen appeared, announcing a rerun of some news and his eyes lazily followed the letters, his ears slow to pick up the words spoken by the news anchor through the low chatter in the room. It was something about the new election coming up and he couldn’t force himself to care enough to follow too closely.

It was, however, when the full combination of surprise, dread and shock flooded into him and his surroundings cleared instantly when the next segment came on and he suddenly was faced with a picture that had marked some of his best times, the peak of his career and now it just felt laced with accusations and poison. It was him and Phil, as they had been when they were the BBC presenters, before the picture cut to one of the tour advertising shots. 

‘’Former BBC Radio 1 show hosts and Youtubers Dan Howell and Phil Lester, better known by their internet handles danisnotonfire and AmazingPhil, have recently hit the social medias with their hiatus, but is it just a mere time for relaxation or does it hide a lot more morbid truth?’’ 

An older picture of Dan appeared on the screen. ‘’Reliable sources confirmed earlier today that the Youtube star, Howell has been sentenced to several years in prison for what has been disclosed a disagreement with his business and allegedly romantic partner - Lester. The current whereabouts of Phil Lester are still unknown, but it has been rightfully rumoured that the notable absence of the man could indicate that he currently may not be in physical condition to be seen in the public. This has, of course, caused an uproar in the social media, many fans trying to justify the absence and contact the two social media stars, but currently there is no further insights of the situation. Stay tuned--’’ 

There were eyes on him, some of the inmates aware of Dan’s presence in the room, but he didn’t see them, paid no mind. There was a dull ringing in his ears and he stood, stumbling a little, from his seat and before anyone could even attempt to speak to him, he was down the hall. 

This couldn’t be happening, it had to be a bad dream. He had so many nightmares and he was so delirious, it was possible that the reality had mixed with the plaguing thoughts and vibrant images of reality. 

He kept telling himself that as he shoved past the people, not even thinking as he dropped his name to the guard near the phones. It was when his fingers, shaking more than he ever had experienced them to, were punching in the digits of the number, that he realised that he could barely breathe, the breaths short, gasped, his heartbeat jittery from the mixture of adrenaline and the lack of proper sleep and nutrition.

‘’Hello, Dan?’’ He heard Martyn on the other end, but though his lips were forming words, no sound was coming out and it increased the frantic until a strained sound finally broke from his throat. There was an attempted soothing hush from the other side but it dissipated into a sigh soon ‘’Dan, calm down, we’ve been working on it since we heard about the news, we’ll cover it as much as possible. They had no rights to announce this without an approval, we’ll figure it out. Just breathe, you hear me? Dan? Breathe.’’ 

The words were spoken reassuring, but all Dan heard was the news presenter talking, repeating every spoken word as it hit him harshly with every short breath. It was real, and this call had been the only saving grace that could have proven otherwise. 

Yet, it hadn’t.

Everybody knew now. He knew how the internet worked. The damage was done and everybody knew about this, about _them_. 

This was not how he wanted to eventually come out, if they ever would have decided to officially. He didn’t even care that they were out as much as the fact that it was side-by-side with the announcement of the assumptions of what had happened.

He didn’t realise at which point he’d released the phone and sunk to the ground, knees close and his hands in his hair, pulling tightly as he breathed shallow, quick breaths against his knees. He was dizzy, so dizzy, the black blotches present in his vision. He craved to just pass out right there and then because it felt like it would be easier to just turn to blackness now than to deal with the buzzing inside his skull and the cacophony of noises that the words were causing. His own thoughts and heart were against him and he could not handle it. 

There was a touch of a hand and a voice speaking to him, but he just writhed weakly in response, the panic too strong in his being. 

He was out of control.


	8. Efferno

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Dissociation, Sexual abuse/Non-con elements, homophobic slurs, general slurs, blood, violence 
> 
> FOR THE SAKE OF THE PEOPLE WHO MAY BE UNABLE TO READ THIS CHAPTER DUE TO THE AMOUNT OF TRIGGERS IN IT: I will write a basic summary of the fic at the end of this chapter, so if you'd prefer to avoid any of the aforementioned themes but still know what happened in this chapter, scroll to the bottom of this chapter for the summary <3

He was floating. 

His head was full of the medication that they had put him on and it was the closest to peace and inebriation that he had felt in what felt like an eternity. And perhaps he had been there for millenias, because there was no sense of time inside his skull, his movements felt foreign and the lights and sounds were just a jumbled mess that he was swimming through.

His chest felt too light and too heavy at the same time, his breathing felt too shallow, his thoughts were snails and he closed his eyes, unaware of the voice addressing him. 

The next time he came to it again, it was a lot dimmer and his mouth was too dry. Grunting a little, his muscles sore, he turned over and it was then that the steps resonated in his mind and he looked up. A man in medical clothing was surveying him while Dan pushed himself upright, a little uncertain in his movements.

‘’What…’’ He began to question, but he didn’t finish, the memories returning quite swiftly. ‘’Panic--’’

‘’-- Attack, that is correct, how are you feeling now?’’ The man who Dan assumed to be prison’s local doctor took over the conversation with ease, bringing out a small light that was soon shone into Dan’s eyes and he felt the sting of the sudden change of brightness but it was gone before he could fully comprehend it.

‘’Fine. Sore…?’’ His response was automatic, voice as void of emotion as was his whole being. There was faintness in the muscles and he didn’t even bother attempting to push his hair aside though a particularly long curl was starting to fall into his eyes by now. His scalp ached faintly, but he didn’t question it, too familiar with his panic response and the tendency to pull at his hair subconsciously.

It had been so long since the last panic attack where he had blacked out or had required medicine to calm him down. Usually there was a pair of hands, a soothing voice, light touches that would grow to be a full on embrace and lithe fingers drawing calming circles on his spine. There would be the familiarity of the surroundings and the actual issue at hand would be something minor; usually a combination of things piling up for far too many months finally tipping over. 

It had been forever since the last time he had felt like he was a prisoner of his own flesh, his soul screeching on the inside and filling his own head with noise for nobody else to ever hear. 

It had been so long since he had felt that pulling himself physically apart would remedy the chaos.

‘’Do you feel like you can walk, return to your cell for the night?’’ he barely registered the question, but nodded, accepting the cup of water that had been offered to him and emptying it quickly, a cold dribble running down his chin and neck with some of the spilled droplets.

It was before he knew it that he was back in the cell, and the silence was heavy, a little awkwardness hanging in the air. Dan, however, was used to it by now. 

It always felt like his cellmates weren't saying something.

======

The calls and visits came and went, his parents and, eventually his brother, visiting. They worried, at first out loud, then - quietly, though Dan could see right through their calm and casual questions and attempts at small talk that involved bringing Dan up to date with random entertainment happenings and life things.

Lesters and others arrived, explaining the damage control done and the things that they had done to mend the mess that the media had caused. He politely responded and thanked accordingly.

He made calls, as always; it was a tradition that he nor wished nor dared to break. It was one of those moments of being in control, pressing the buttons, before it was all gone and he had to hope for the best when the voice on the other side spoke, most of the time - in Martyn's persona. 

April had bled into May and May was wrapping up with ease. Dan, however, was all the same. 

Bruises painted his body. Stoic or trained expressions kept his features exercised. Work kept him busy.

Nightmares were an earned punishment still, having exceeded most of the bloody shock, now lingering in every dream to taint the fondest of memories and the calmest of nights with a sudden change. The few times of pure blackness were a blessing that he didn't dare to appreciate consciously, were they to be taken away from him just like everything else he held close.

=====

“Hey fag, get out of my spot,” There was laughter and he would have squirmed at the slur if he hadn't yet gotten accustomed to hearing it. 

Though a lot of damage was done outside the prison, Dan had soon become aware that as much had been done on the inside of it, too. 

It had been a passing hiss in his direction when someone shoved him in the hallways (A form of violence that was the most popular, due to the easy nature to defend against any accusations if a guard was to notice it). It was the looks some of the men gave him in the showers, and the snickering about how he probably was getting off to what he saw there. It was how they went out of their way to make his life harder, pushing him out of familiar places and knocking things out of his reach.

Having lost his already non-existent appetite, he pushed up from his seat and emptied his tray in the trash, feeling eyes on him and noticed the few men speaking in something that sounded like mockery. 

Dan, however, had grown numb to it. Just like the knuckles had hurt at first, so did the words, but soon enough it had become enough of a routine for him to just zone out or to let them sink so deep that they were buried in the void of his being. He zoned out of his own mind and body, just moving through the days with a trained facade of expressions, responses and movements. 

Days and nights blurred together with ease at those moments, but Dan found solitude in that disconnection from the reality. 

=====

“Happy birthday, honey,” She was as gentle as ever with her greetings, the genuine greeting mixing with the worried nature of the mother when they met a day after the 11th day of June had rolled around and disappeared into the blur of the days. Dan regarded her warmly, though there was a certain emptiness in his dark gaze and the smile didn't quite reach anything else but his lips. 

“Thanks, mum,” He said as fondly as he could muster and his eyes trailed over to the next face. When did his father age so much? Dan couldn't remember seeing the creeping greyness in the man's hair before. 

When did his brother become so holed up? They hadn't been super open to each other, but it felt like it had expanded from a lack of talking between the brothers to a coldness between his family members. Though they never said a word about it, he could see it, and there was a part of him, a jumbled mess of emotions that worried, that was angry, at them, at himself, at the law and situation. A part of him felt so helpless that his mind was beginning to slip again and the picture before his eyes felt less and less real with every passing moment but he clung to the reality with the remains of his will.

“How's grandma?” He tried to steer the conversation into a more familiar direction, to try and find some familial love still, to see that his mistakes hadn't tainted his whole family as terribly as he felt it had.

“She's well, and sending all of her love,” His mum began to speak, before Adrian budged in, a light laugh escaping the younger brother's lips “Keeps going on how she would kick all of the judges for throwing you in the harm's way. I think she would actually slap the lawyer if she'd ever meet him face to face again.”

Warmth poured into his bones a little and he leaned slightly closer to his brother, finding what he had been looking for, even if only a little bit of it ''Look out, grandma might actually pull out grandpa's hunting shotgun to go after them at this rate.'' 

Thankfully, his weak attempt to joke was well received and the air eased a little, the reality remained. His emotions, however, began to pressure his chest and the knot in his throat was becoming more prominent. 

It was before the meeting was even over that he had slipped back into the familiar blurry fog again.

======

There were some rare rays of sun flooding in through the window as Dan was scrubbing away at the shower floor, the action robotic in his weakened muscles, and it took a light jab at his ribs to finally realise that his inmate was trying to get his attention. 

“You sure are absent-minded,” Rudy commented and that Cheshire-like smile was still gracing his lips, the pearl-whites clear in Dan's line of vision.

“What do you want?” He asked, and through it all he tried to look natural, rolling his eyes though the action made him feel unwell. 

There was a certain degree of kinship that he had found in the odd prisoner. Though they failed to have proper communication, Rudy had still remained the one constant person in Dan's prison life that wasn't threatening, even through all the trouble. Sure, their conversation was usually very one-sided, Rudy rambling away about whatever was on his mind, jumping topics quicker than Dan could follow even if he tried and with Dan just listening, only nodding briefly once in awhile.

It was almost like he had a friend, though he didn't dare to call their kinship anything remotely close to that. 

“A rug?” There was a lingering edge of laughter in the other man's voice, one that always seemed eerie to Dan but he had learned to accept it over the months. 

“Can't you get it yourself?” Dan moved the mop as if to say _I am kind of preoccupied here right now_ only to receive an unintelligible mutter back from the other man and Dan's lips bowed a little in a vague reminiscence of a smile. There was a kind of comfort in the minimal banter, and though it was a painful reminder of a fading voice, he still liked to imagine that it was Phil and not Rudy who turned the corner when Rudy found no rug in the cart and retreated to the supply cabinet. That the mop of black hair was not of a vaguely familiar persona but of someone he truly still loved.

He knew that Phil would never land himself locked behind the bars though. Though not exactly the angel that their fans had used to paint him, Dan knew that Phil was a good person and his mistakes were never quite as bad as Dan's.

A faint sigh fell from his lips and Dan turned back to his work, scrubbing at the floor and letting his mind wander off. 

The last he had heard, there'd been no change, they said. 

But there _had_ been a change, and it was in the voice that he had heard through the receiver; it was the sound of someone beginning to lose hope. Someone who struggled to stay positive and who was slowly starting to accept the worst probable outcome.

Dan had succumbed to tears that night. They hadn't fallen for a while, he couldn't will them to, but it took that little waver in Martyn's tone to tip Dan, and his pillow had still been moist in the morning when he woke up.

By now he had returned to that numb state, where he liked to think that nothing truly bothered him. Where a large gap had formed between him and the other inmates, enough to keep him safe, even if safety was a fake term, and the bruises on his skin were as fresh as those on his soul from the harsh words spoken.

There were silent steps behind him and Dan assumed Rudy's return, not bothering to turn around as he continued to scrub at an annoying spot on the floor, determined to at least succeed at this single task given to him today. 

It took him a moment though, to realise that there was none of the usual muttering, and instead there were eyes on him. 

“Can you stop staring?” He asked, turning to look over at the other man, but instead of meeting that Cheshire grin, he was met with the squared features of the man he'd come to learn was named Stanley. The same one whose knuckles he knew too well, whose voice was poisonous and thick, the same one who was usually there with his pals, but now stood too close to Dan on his own, yet no less threatening. 

“Heard you like dick,” Though not a something that he hadn't heard before, Dan still felt a threat in the words and he gripped the mop tighter, holding it close to his body as if it could keep him safe. 

“Bet you miss it, too,” Stanley took a step forward and, instinctively, Dan took one back. Though jokes were common, nobody had ever made Dan feel this threatened. The burning power and an unwelcome desire in the eyes that made Dan want to either hurl or run. 

It was another step back that he realised that he was trapped against the corner of the showers, and for the first time in his stay in the prison, he truly missed Rudy's presence. “I have work to do,” He tried to tell the man off without a profanity in his mouth, a small part of him afraid to trigger the usual violence that he had come to accept, because something told him that it wouldn't be the only thing on the line now.

His words, however, were completely ignored and Dan felt trapped against the tiled corner when the man came too close. His frame was too large and seemed too immovable; it was like being trapped in a room with the walls closing in on him.

It was when the other leaned in too close, that Dan finally reacted, shoving the mop forward and using it as a leverage to push the other man away “Get OFF,” his throat felt raw as the anger bubbled up from within finally, so carefully buried for the past months, suddenly breaking through that numb facade.

His world faded to black then, for a moment, when a heavy fist collided with his face forcefully, and his knees buckled, ready to fall. But he never hit the floor, and instead he felt the tight grip on the front of his sweater, the fabric cutting into the sides of his neck painfully and he groaned, both in pain and the dizziness that was ringing in his head from the earlier impact. His temple was pulsing and he could already imagine the bruise that would soon appear on his skin, now visible to everyone. 

“You really don't learn, do you? Fucking pain slut,” and before he knew it, he was yanked away from the wall only for his face to collide with the cool tiles soon after, body turned around, his cheek pressed flat against the tiles as his teeth clattered together painfully, the sound echoing inside his head unpleasantly. He felt the other man's body forced up close against his back, pinning him to the spot and there was that poisonously dripping tone hissing right into his ear again “How about I fuck that ass of yours, maybe you'll become more obedient when you've finally got a taste of a dick again, hm? I bet your stupid little boyfriend couldn't satisfy you enough.”

There were hands, foreign, rough and so very big, on his body, trailing over his sides, his hips. There was breath, hot and wet against the back of his neck.

He hated it. 

So many memories had been tainted by his own mind with the help of the nightmares, now life had thrown in a real life reminder of how the sweetest moments could be turned sour so easily. How the things he associated with trust, love and gentleness could be ripped away from him so easily.

The hands were offending, groping around, having a taste of what could not be had so easily.

It was a moment of complete dread when Dan realised that a certain tightness against his body wasn't just the muscles pinning him down and instead there was a bulging in Stanley's pants that the other was too keen to press close against Dan, searching relief. Instantly, he squirmed, hands grabbing at everything that he could, and he dug his nails into the other man's thigh as tightly as he could when it was the only thing that he could grab onto. 

There was a hiss of pain and the grip weakened for a moment, allowing Dan to draw in a breath. 

He had to scream. He had to call for anyone to not let this happen. 

Of all the things. 

They could hit him. Call him names.

But he was not ready to give away the remains of his already fading dignity.

It was only a brief sound that he managed to make though, before a hand was clasped over his mouth and nose and his breath caught, eyes wide, and he tried to struggle when he felt the tug at his pants, the fairly loose fabric giving in easily.

He whimpered, breathlessly, against the hand, the lack of oxygen leaving him grasping around frantically for anything that he could use to free himself. 

The feeling of hot, rigidly hard flesh against his glutes was not welcome and Dan's heart was going nuts, both, from the lack of oxygen and the absolute panic. He tried to push his hands against the wall, to try and leverage the much bigger man off from himself. 

He felt too exposed, too vulnerable and he hated it and it pounded in his head with the bubbling mixture of anger and fright.

There was another hiss as their bodies came closer, but instead of dissatisfaction, Dan realised, it was one of pleasure, and a cold shiver ran down his back.

This couldn't be happening. So many things had been stripped from him, but he'd never expected that this would be part of the price that he would have to pay--

Suddenly, Stanley's loud yelling filled the showers, echoing painfully against the walls and the inside of Dan's pulsing head when the first initial sound had begun right next to his ear. But there was a blessing in the sound, too, because suddenly Stanley was pulled away, and his screeching swears were pronounced in, what seemed, pain. 

Dan quickly pulled his at his trousers to pull them back on and turned to witness a scene that he'd only expected in some weird horror and thriller mix. Rudy had leapt on Stanley's back, arms around the large man, nails digging into Stanley's chest and his teeth had sunk into the taller man's shoulder. 

He could see blood spilling from where the skin gave into the pressure of the teeth, and it made Dan freeze for a moment before Stanley backed into a wall, attempting to get rid of the smaller man attached to his back. It was when a pained yelp escaped Rudy's lips that the cold shiver was exchanged by the hot red flash that ran through Dan's body and suddenly his mind was blank.

There was only one thought.

And it was to hurt the man in front of him. For what he had done. For what he had attempted to do. For what he had _said._

He launched forward, fists hitting everywhere they could reach, feeling the returned blows but numb to the pain, though his vision was losing clarity with every impact that sharply shot through his body, unnoticed by the rage-filled brain. 

He didn't even realise when several guards had ran into the room, pulling the three men apart, and it was soon that Dan was thrown against the floor and held down, a knee pressing into his lower back painfully. He didn't struggle anymore then though, the numerous hits finally starting to resonate, and he moaned, lowly, the pain shooting through the entirety of his body and landing somewhere in the centre of his head. 

It hurt.

It hurt so much.

His face was wet when his consciousness faded once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the panic attack in the previous chapter, Dan awakens in the medical side of the prison, but is soon released back to his cell. 
> 
> Dan begins to dissociate, finding it the best way to deal with the fading days filled with not only being punched now but also with the other prisoners calling him homophobic slurs and making jokes related, as well as by pushing him out of the familiar places in the prison, such as not letting him calmly finish his food etc.
> 
> His birthday comes and goes, his family visits as soon as possible, but Dan notices that there seems to be some distance between his parents and brother that hadn't been there before. This makes him both, angry and sad, because he doesn't remember things getting this bad.
> 
> One day Dan finds himself at shower cleaning duty with Rudy. Too distracted, Dan doesn't realise that Rudy has been trying to get his attention. Soon enough he gains it but they don't find the rug that Rudy has been looking for and Rudy leaves to find one. 
> 
> Left alone, Dan reminisces of Phil privately and doesn't react much when he hears someone coming into the shadows, thinking it's Rudy. It's not, and Stanley corners Dan and attempts to take advantage of him and Dan struggles to try and not let him do it.
> 
> Thankfully, Rudy comes to the rescue, attacking Stanley from behind and therefore freeing Dan.
> 
> Dan blanks out in anger and the three get in a fight until several guards pull them apart. Having suffered a lot of blows, Dan, once again, blacks out.


	9. Ne plus ultra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Mentions of violence, Suicidal thoughts

The stitches on his forehead and cheek felt more offending than the black and blue bruises covering too many parts of his body in a familiar knuckle pattern. The black eye and the swollen feeling was nothing compared to the concussion that he had gotten and due to which he had been instructed to bed stay. He constantly felt nauseous and though he got some painkillers, they did a poor job actually blocking out the pain. 

Everything felt too intrusive to his senses.

The cotton was just as scratchy in the prison's medical ward as back in his cell bed. Every little movement created too much sound, too much rough rubbing of threads against the patches of exposed skin.

And the irritation that the feeling sent through his senses didn't help him relax.

On top of the pain inflicted by the fight, he was plagued with the flashes of fear and anger. More often than not he would wake up due to the discomfort that the tension in his muscles would create, and in his less aware moments of awakeness he would zone back in only to feel his nails digging into his palms, leaving painful crescents in his skin. 

Through the spotty sleep, he found himself struggling; the general restlessness was eating at his sanity, the pain - distorted his vision, and his emotions were running incomprehensible scenarios through his mind.

Perhaps it was also the bareness of his scalp that made him so restless.

After the fight, the three prisoners had been taken off to different parts of the prison. Dan had only heard about what happened to Rudy and Stanley a few hours later when he had come to it again, head full of scratchy cotton of where the initial stronger painkillers had still been numbing out the pain. 

Rudy had been sent out for psychological reevaluation after a brief medical attention. His attack and reaction had been deemed dangerous for the inmates, though admitted as self-defense. 

There was a guilt-laced part of Dan that wasn't sure that the other man would ever return. He'd seen the stares before, how people would deliberately avoid the other man and how they snickered at him when Rudy wasn't looking, as if the man was a loony. 

The closest thing to a friend that Dan had made in this forsaken place was taken away. 

Stanley meanwhile had been taken to the high security cell. His case had been reopened and, from rumours that his weary mind had pieced together from the guards passing through, the most likely outcome was that Stanley's previously dubious sentence would be cemented now with the record of the attack. 

Dan knew that he was supposed to feel relieved hearing that. He understood how much of his lifeline depended on being separated far away from this man. 

Yet he couldn't help feeling a bit regretful still.

Though Dan didn't miss the idea of being used as a punching bag, there was a certain familiarity in the fear and loathing. He knew who to avoid and what was to come if he failed to accomplish it. He knew the punishment, accepted it as part of his payment for what he had caused. 

Now he was left with a questionable future. 

It was his rational mind fighting with that deeply rooted darkness that had resurfaced over the months spent behind the bars. 

Dan himself had ended with a lot of open gashes, most of which he had no memory of getting. His body had pumped too much adrenaline into his veins, numbing the nerve endings. Upon awakening, however, he'd very soon become very much aware of the soreness and discomfort.

And there had been something else off about how he felt. 

He soon realised what had been wrong when he'd brought a hand up in a trained motion, partially to rub his head in hopes to soothe the pain, and partially to brush his fringe aside. Instead he'd been met with a line of short, pointy hair. 

They had taken the liberty of cutting his hair in buzzcut to reach a particularly nasty open gash that needed stitching and later justified it that it had been only a matter of time when he would have had the little machine running across his scalp. 

He'd not lost his dignity, but he had lost a characteristic nonetheless. 

And he had lost that strange continuity in his prison life.

======

“Shit, Dan, is that--” The words were an unquestionable shock as Dan slumped down into the seat across from Martyn, a slight limp showing in his walk until he sat down, exhaling a sigh of relief. As if to add an insult to his injuries, he'd soon realised that somewhere along the way he had also sprained his ankle and that had put an extra damper on his mood.

“I didn't want my parents to see this,” He croaked out, offering the older man a small, almost apologetic smile. He had made sure to tell his mum off over the phone, saying that he had some things that he needed to discuss with Martyn this week. “Think this will go onto my record?” He half-joked.

“Bloody hell, what happened to you? This is inhumane, you need to--” Martyn's voice was loud, too loud for Dan's still mushy brain to be able to handle and he squirmed at the sound a little.

“Martyn, calm down. I got in a fight with another inmate. He's now being transported away,” There was tension that had settled in his back and he shifted a little, trying to stretch, only to scowl when pain shot through his body. “I'll be fine, I'm healing right,” He added when he noted the worry in Martyn's face.

“You can't do this, Dan...” The tone was low, careful, but ever so worried still as Martyn spoke, surveying the bruises and stitches, and Dan soon noted that the other man's eyes lingered on Dan's forehead, probably used to the fringe cover. 

“Do you think I did this to myself? Honestly, Martyn, and here I thought that you knew me better,” Some hostility was beginning to boil again and Dan curled his fingers into fists when he felt the headache begin to return. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose, allowing the spark of strong emotions settle down again.

“Sorry, I just…. Shit, you look like a mess,” Any other time, Dan would've laughed at the amount of profanities, but now he just offered a small, crooked smile to the other man.

“Don't I always?” Dan tried to humour only to receive just as a half-hearted smile from the other man.

“And the hair?” Martyn then motioned towards Dan's head. It made him wish for one of the hoodies again, where he could just pull the hood over his head and hide away similarly to how he had behind the hair before.

“For stitches and apparently they have a single haircut option behind the bars,” There was a certain cheekiness in Dan's words, but the reality was clear; Dan was uncomfortable. The makeshift amusement in his face was soon exchanged by a frown and his fingers bunched some of his uniform clothing tightly in his grip. 

There was a silence, and though he appreciated that, his whole being was restless and he shifted in his seat.

“So.” He began again and the dark eyes trained onto the other man whose summer attire was almost an offending reminder of how long Dan had been locked away.

“So?” Martyn mirrored, but after being stared at for moments longer, the man heaved a sigh, entwining his fingers as he leaned forward with arms resting on the wooden table and the hesitation alone made Dan's chest throb “There were….. Some complications.” It seemed like Martyn was trying hard to find the correct way to word it, and there was tension in his shoulders.

Dan felt the colour drain from his already pale features and his heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach, only to jump with the next bit of shooting headache, spilling the breath so hastily that his voice could barely keep up “W-what...”

“They noticed something off during the routine checkups. Apparently there was some liquid in his lungs, but don't worry, they attended to it and he should be fine again. He's being monitored carefully to avoid a relapse.”

Dan released a shaky breath and slumped more into the chair behind him “Don't scare me like that,” he muttered and, out of habit, brought a hand to rub through his hair only to flinch away when his fingertips met with the short cut. He dropped his hand in his lap.

It felt like a first in a long time that his head felt so clear, even if for a second, when the news had been announced. For a moment he'd come to a conclusion that it was all over and they had lost.

“He's still out, and with how this is going, I'm just worried, Dan,” Eyes, achingly similar to Phil's in colour, were looking straight at him and he felt judged under the gaze though there was nothing but a genuine familial worry in them. “Look at what already happened to you; I don't think mum will be able to handle losing both of you.”

Dan blinked, at first surprised, then it dawned upon him. She'd said before that she'd accepted himself as her own son too, and though he'd found it heartwarming, he'd always set himself outside the Lester family. A stranger that is just always there.

He hadn't thought that they truly had accepted him as their own.

He leaned forward, holding the other man's gaze for a moment and there was a renowned life in his dark eyes “Tell her that she won't.”

If he could do one thing correctly still, it would be this.

“She won't lose us.”

======

It was always an unpleasant reminder, whenever he stood by the sink, drawing the dull blade over his cheeks to rid his face of the light scruff that had taken over a week to properly grow. The metallic sheet mirror made his reflection a little distorted, but even if he kept that in mind, it didn't change the reality.

They said prison changed people. 

For him, it just seemed like the prison tore the weak down and encouraged the most vicious.

He stared, and the familiar brown eyes looked back, but that felt like the only familiar feature at the immediate glance. 

His skin was pale, discoloured with the varying degrees of healing bruising and his eyes and cheeks seemed to have sunk in, the black eye not helping. He looked at the man in the reflection, beaten and ill-looking, and he could barely piece together the person he had taken for granted during all those years of self-loathing.

Dan wanted to laugh when that thought crossed his mind. 

Teenage years were angsty, and there had been a lot of of self-image issues that he had gone through. His grave humour always expressed openly the many things he had hated about himself, but slowly he had been finding his way to a stability.

The same stability that had been completely floored.

He had hated parts of himself before, but now the loathing had gone far and beyond and, as he looked in the mirror, he realised that he hated the person in the reflection. The one which he knew that he'll never get rid of if he wanted to fulfill the promises he'd made. 

The blade made his skin feel itchy and he reluctantly set it aside, fighting the temptation to push the sharper edges into his skin more, eyes instead lingering on the edges and his teeth sank into his lower lip, chewing at it. It would be so easy to just cut himself away from all of this. To just run away from it all and save the trouble for everyone around him.

“Shit,” He muttered, and looked away from the razor and down at the sink, now filled with the water and he watched it for a moment before submerging his face into it. 

He felt the bubbles tickling his face as they escaped his nose, and after a while his heart was beginning to jerk uncomfortably in his chest. When he finally pulled his head out of the water filled sink, a gasp escaped him loudly and he leaned against the edge of the sink, trying to catch his breath again. 

When he looked up and at his reflection again, there was a solemn man staring back. 

“Don't mess this up,” He muttered lowly and watched as the chapped lips of the reflection moved with the words “Don't you make this worse than it already is.”

And somehow, though he hated the man, he soon found himself nodding in agreement.

======

“Phil, I'm sorry...” He muttered, head hung low as he stood in front of Phil, too ashamed to look the other man in the eyes. He felt shorter, he _was_ shorter than the other man and when he looked up, prompted by Phil's pale fingers on his chin, dark strands of hair fell into his view, but he brushed them aside with a trained hand movement.

The Phil in front of him looked so young, and his hair was just as long as Dan's, his skin was not quite as creased with the laughter lines yet and his frame was thinner. His lips were stretched into that familiar smile that always made Dan's chest tingle with emotion. 

“Come on Dan, you know I can't stay mad at you,” And there was a dusty pink on Phil's cheeks, mirrored by the warmth Dan felt in his own. 

“But you should, I'm being an irrational trash and I honestly don't understand why are you still putting up with me, _living_ with me,” He felt the tears begin to well up in his eyes, but Phil just kept smiling that goofy, slightly crooked smile, his blue eyes soft as they regarded the younger boy.

There was a bit of hesitation, and Phil's cheeks grew pinker, eyes shifting for a moment before he took a small step forward, enough that Dan had to look up a little to properly look the other man in the eye.

“Don't you understand it still?” Phil asked and Dan swallowed, trying to shake his head but he was too mesmerised by those deep blues of the other man's irises.

“It's because I love you, Dan,” And with that, Phil closed the distance, their lips touching softly before Dan's eyes snapped wide open.

It had been a dream, again, but it was the calm nature of the memory, how it wasn't touched by the gore and guilt, that surprised Dan awake. 

He lied in the stiff bed, eyes staring at the dark ceiling. 

It had been 2012, just after all the troubles began and Dan had overreacted so badly. It was through all their fighting and Dan's meltdowns that they had ended up like that. Standing in their apartment, with Dan's shoulders slouching too much and he had been so sure that it would end there and then. Yet it had turned around completely, and it had been when Phil had finally confessed.

They had been dancing around feelings, sharing drunk and messy kisses before and messed around, but it had never hit the point where they actually committed to it, never truly agreed to the idea of being officially together. Too scared by how that would change everything, by how the world would react.

It had been the final push, Phil had later told him, those months of on and off fighting, that he finally understood that it had been time. He hadn't been able to imagine losing Dan and, Dan had admitted later, it had truly been a mutual fear back then. 

So Phil had decided that it was time to confess.

Dan had been so used to nightmares, to the darkness and crimson flooding the peace of different moments of their life that he liked to recall. He had forgotten just where it had truly began, how it had felt and how, at his worst, Phil had taken him and raised him above the tallest mountains. 

The strange amount of elation in his chest was unexpected and Dan found himself lying there, unmoving, for hours until the late summer sunlight finally began to pour in through the small window.


	10. Ad lucem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter to those who celebrate it, I hope you will find this chapter fitting <3 ahahaa (This was a coincidence, but I'm not complaining)

There was a low, rhythmical murmur of machines beeping softly, voices somewhere far away and then there was somebody talking to him what felt like hours after he began to come to it. Phil couldn't understand what had happened. His memory was fuzzy and his limbs felt too relaxed and a little achy in their stillness. It felt like he was still dreaming but there was something different from the last dreams that he could recall. There was more motion in front of him, around him, somewhere further beyond and he couldn't remember the last he'd felt so uncomfortable and the last time that his ears ached from the smallest of sounds.

His eyelids fluttered open, slowly, a soreness setting into the spaces around his eyes with the small action.

He looked around, clearly groggy, confusion creasing his forehead lightly though his face felt weak and a little numb, the blue eyes squinting with the lack of clear vision and the unexpected amount of light that finally entered through the retinas consciously, after months of only recurring checkups from the doctor though he had no recollection of them. 

“W-wha--” Phil tried to speak, but his voice faltered, pale, cracked lips opening and closing with the dryness in his throat and the complete confusion of how to make the vocal cords and tongue work correctly. 

“Easy Phil,” Martyn's voice was there, and it was unexpectedly gentle. Though they hadn't exactly been at the worst terms throughout their life, such softness was unusual and it only brought more bleary questions coursing through Phil's foggy mind. “Here, careful,” A cup pressed against his lips and he felt the drops of water hitting his dry tongue, and the feeling was revitalising, though it made him become increasingly aware of the overall dull ache in the center of his head and his chest. The cup returned, he felt the hand behind his head but he only groaned, trying to shake his head, though the action was barely noticeable. Thankfully, it seemed that Martyn had understood and retreated.

“It's good to have you back, bro,” Again, the same softness, the relief, some emotions that he could identify but which only confused him, were expressed. 

“Whe--” He tried to speak again when he felt a strain in his chest, making him grunt, scrunching up his face more. He wanted to roll over to his side, to curl up and wait for the feeling to pass, but he couldn't, and just moving his fingers made him feel like he was exhausting himself.

They'd joked many times about them being weaklings in many ways, but this was utterly different.

Dan.

The thought of the younger man crossed his mind.

“How are you feeling?” Phil hadn't even noticed the several pairs of steps that filled the room with more noise until he was directly addressed. Slowly he opened his eyes again, feeling lethargic, to try and understand the picture before him. A slightly blurry figure clad in a white coat was standing nearby and staring at him. It took him a while to finally piece together the words and the image before him. 

“Mmn...” Was the only thing that he could manage out and he saw the man come closer and there was an uncomfortable prickling sensation in the back of his mind but he allowed it to pass, feeling his lips being pulled apart gently and a foreign sensation pressing against his tongue. A moment later a bright light shone into his eyes and he grunted again though he felt the exhaustion already begin to take over him rapidly. 

“Your vocal cords seem to be intact and eyesight seems to be well, it will take a few days and we'll need to do some scans, but I'm sure you're well on your way to recovery. Welcome back, mister Lester,” And though he felt the jubilee of the words, his consciousness dragged like snails and it was somewhere along the way that he faded back to the familiar blackness, too exhausted by all the stimuli.

=====

It was a weird sensation, when he woke up next. It felt like a dream still, but it felt realer, if only by an inkling. For a while he just blinked, slowly, staring at the darkening ceiling, noting the slight halo of a bedside lamp entering his senses and distorting his understanding for a brief moment before he blinked it away again.

His thoughts were still slow, a jumbled mess, still trying to grasp the difference between the dream and reality.

Somewhere along the way he understood; he was at the hospital. It was the 'why' what took longer to figure out. At first he tried to retrace the steps, but he soon drew a blank, the dreams mixing with the last reality pieces that he could recall and those from years ago. It was like filling in a timeline by using scattered pieces of paper with the moments written on them. He liked puzzles, that was one certainty in the process that he had, but it was frustrating to try and piece his own life together.

What exactly had happened?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm the swirling colours before his eyes a bit, his mind unable to steadily conjure visual thoughts yet. 

Yelling was the first thing that came back to him. There was anger and his heart pounding faster, his vision unfocused on the paperwork before him. There was some conversation that he remembered that made him feel dread and some of his patience had been completely torn apart at that same moment.

There was something supposedly soft. But it didn't seem soft.

He grunted, scrunching up his face again, trying to focus. 

A blur of hot flash red, a blur of yellow lights, a vision of hooded figure. It was black, no, it was maroon. Black felt safe and he cared, the maroon made his heart rate increase. 

The maroon grew, enveloped the entirety of his memory, there was a silver flash and a hiss and his heartbeat was now in his ears, making his head hurt. He was afraid. He felt the pain pull at his chest and he felt like he wanted to scream but he couldn't open his mouth to do so. 

His breath caught and it was then that the panic truly set in and his eyes snapped open, and he gasped, breath growing shorter with every gasp. The ceiling before him was becoming blurrier, dark blotches starting to enter his vision. His fingers twisted into the fabric of the covers and he pulled at it, subconsciously.

He couldn't breathe properly. He could hear only the heavy, uneven beats of his own heart. 

He was so afraid. 

Suddenly he was enveloped in a soft embrace, his body straining a little when not fully supported by the bed, but his fingers twitched, trying to find the strength to hold onto whoever held him. It felt like the touch brought him back to the reality. He gasped for more breaths, the heartbeat calming and he clumsily pushed his face against the body that held him. A painfully strained sound escaped his throat, his voice still lost on him. He felt the rub of a soothing hand against his back and slowly he felt the initial panic pass. 

The feeling of the embrace was familiar, safe.

His lips moved before he even thought about it, forming a single word against the shoulder and it was slow that he realised that it wasn't the correct feeling against his lips that he felt. He shifted a little and he felt the embrace loosen around him. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and though a little blurry, he saw the face of his mother, looking down at him with a mixture of worry and relief. And was it just Phil's fuzzy memory or did she look older than he last remembered?

“Oh Phil,” His mum spoke softly, running her fingers over his cheek and pushing his hair out of his face. He could see the dampness of tears in her eyes and he wished that he could reach out properly to hug her back, but he only managed to weakly cling to her cardigan, the texture under his fingers allowing him to believe that it truly was the reality that he was in currently. 

Slowly, he tore his gaze away from her to look around. Now supported upright, he felt more mobile and his gaze could piece together the features of Martyn, the red hair of Cornelia stood further off, and then he looked up at his father at the foot of his bed. 

He kept turning his head, his neck feeling fragile from the lack of use, trying to spot the one more figure that he hoped to see. Slowly, he had pieced together the night of their fight, the way that he had rushed out to find Dan and to try and to coax him into coming back home. The shady figure….

His breath caught again and he forced the last thought away, focused on who he had been searching for back then and who he was searching for now.

Finally, he looked back at his mother, his lips forming the single word again, at first soundlessly, but slowly he breathed a vague reminiscence of sound into it. 

“Dan…?” There was a little pride in being able to pronounce the question and make sure that it was one. There was also concern of the absence of the said man. Was Dan out getting them something? Was Dan somewhere else? Had Dan been caught by the same man--- 

The thought clearly flashed over his usually controlled expression and he felt his mum's hand rubbing his back again “He's fine,” Somehow it felt like a lie, and he furrowed his brows at her a little “He's fine, I promise. He just can't be here right now,” there was tension that even Phil could notice and he wanted to protest. He pulled at the cardigan a little stronger “I will explain later, the doctors want to have a look at you first.” And as if on cue, the door came open and a few more people poured into the room. He watched as his family moved aside, how they hesitated before leaving the room. He felt the press of his bed against his back again and it was soon enough that he was surrounded by strangers as they began checking and prodding him. 

The only thing he wanted now was to tune them out; it was too much to handle. His senses felt overloaded.

“Are you following?” The voice registered and he looked over at the man besides him while one of the nurses pulled at his gown and he felt himself flush, if only faintly, at that. “Do you have any idea for how long were you in coma?” The word coma itself caught him by surprise and his brows rose, before he moved his head, trying to shake it “It's 5th of September, you've been out for almost 6 months,” if it was possible, his eyes got wider and he tried to understand if perhaps his mind was playing tricks on him. The last he recalled it had been cold, but slowly warming up with the month of March, and to think that he had missed an entire summer was something that he couldn't wrap his mind around. Not yet.

“Due to this, we will need to have extensive tests to ensure that your wounds have healed properly and that there is no lasting damage. Additionally, your muscles will require physiotherapy to regain the volume and strength.” 

He tried to interject, but the sound that came from his throat was not logical, didn't form any words. The doctor offered him a small smile “Speech will come back to you within a couple of weeks at most. Don't strain yourself too much. If there's any problem, we have speech therapists available as well.”

Though unhappy with that answer, Phil knew to be grateful when he looked down and saw the smooth scarring on his chest, the stitches still present though barely serving any function anymore. There were equal amounts of dread and relief in that jagged line and he just rested his head back onto the pillow until they were done, listening to what was explained to him.

6 months. It had been half a year, and with all the therapy he feared that his stay in this same room was to add months to it still and with that thought alone his chest twinged with sadness.

He had missed all of the spring, the entirety of summer and it had stretched into early autumn now.

He had missed the summer heat, the rains that always filled the London days. The unbearable sun rays that he always had to shield from with thick layers of sunscreen. 

He had missed Dan's birthday.

Phil was still wondering about what had happened to his best friend. What had happened for Dan to be unable to be there today. A part of Phil wanted to be angry, another part of him was frightful. The most prominent was longing. As the idea of two seasons hit him, he longed to see the other man even more. To feel him on his own skin. To hold on tight. To know that he was safe. 

A part of him feared the lack of response from his mother earlier. The tension had been apparent, but he didn't dare to think why it had been there in the first place.

Had Dan, by any chance, managed to move on in this time? Phil knew that though it would break him, he wouldn't hold it against Dan. Six whole months of uncertainty, and he knew how truly fragile Dan could be at times. 

But could he really have given up and actually moved on so quickly?

It was a thought that still danced around his mind when he slipped back into the comfort of darkness again.


	11. Oratio recta

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: Mentions of violence

There were familiar faces, friendly and not blurry ever since the glasses had been perched on the bridge of his nose, but he found it difficult to smile for too long. The words addressing him were a cacophony in his head and his responses were single-word ones as he tried to go through the initial meeting with the family members. Some of them were too happy, some - plain relaxed, but in all of their words he failed to hear the answers to things that he was searching for. 

It had been three days of a blurry mixture between falling asleep and waking up, but he found it difficult to do anything about it. There had been tests, scans, and he drifted in and out of them as easily as his consciousness. All he understood was that he was doing well, everything after that was lost to him. There were too many long winding sentences of medical terms and though he cared to know, his mind couldn't find the strength to cooperate.

It was when his grandparents poured out of the hospital room that his mum approached him, a gentle caress of his cheek having become a norm for every time that she tried to get his flighty attention.

“How are you feeling?” The mattress bent with the weight of her sitting down and he regarded her with a tired smile, surveying her face quietly before the question finally resonated with him.

“--'M tired,” He murmured, his tongue and lips still clumsy in pronunciation.

“It will get better, love,” She assured him and Phil believed, because in his moments of weakness he knew that he could rely on her. She was one of the few people that he felt like he could be open with.

“Mum…?” He cocked his head weakly, the action making him a little lightheaded, but he wrapped his fingers lightly around her palm when she held his in both of hers. Though not quick to follow the world at that moment, he could still read the clear fact that there was something that she wanted to talk about. He could tell it was important to her and whatever was important to her, he knew was important to him.

“This is something really important,” She confirmed his thoughts, slowly, pausing to let the words sink in and only continued when Phil had nodded, “Do you feel like you can give a clear testimony of what happened soon?”

He blinked, drawing the words together and his forehead creased when he looked at her, a little confused. He drew in a breath, and the discomfort in his chest made his nose tingle slightly, as if he was about to cry, but he didn't, and instead he spoke, slowly ''I can….” He began and his voice hitched for a moment but he stubbornly swallowed the feeling and tried again “I can tell…. What happened…. I remember it…. Quite clearly….” 

It was then that he noticed the blurring of his vision and he felt his mum's hand wiping away the single tear that had rolled down his cheek, her lips forming a low, soothing hush. There was a flash of memories and he tensed a little, swallowing harder, before he looked at her again, his absent mind having trailed off with just an absent gaze to stare at her shoulder for a moment.

“Where is…. Dan?” His voice cracked, but it was hard to tell if it was from the lack of use or was it the emotions that had found space to press down on his chest next to all the scarring that he knew burrowed deep beneath his skin.

And there it was again, the tension, the hesitation, and he could feel it as much as that pressure in the centre of his chest that made him feel unwell again, that made it hard to breathe and his heartbeat too fast. There was panic building up inside again, the frantic twisting feeling that made him want to run, but his limbs didn't want to cooperate and it made him feel worse. 

“Did he…. L-leave?” Just pronouncing that made him feel like he was already answering his question, eyes blurring with poorly controlled emotions.

“Oh Phil, no, no, Dan didn't leave you,” And suddenly there was a rougher feeling against his cheeks, his glasses removed to help the tears to dry, and his head was aching again, unable to contain so many functions smoothly. “No, dear, he's definitely not left you,” The wet drops kept falling, however, Phil unable to will his body to stop so soon.

“Whe-where…?” He felt soft palms on his cheeks and he sniffled a little when looking his mum in face.

“Phillip, listen to me,” Her voice was gentle, but it was like second nature for Phil to focus and silence when she would call him by his proper first name. “When you were brought in, they thought that Dan had something to do with what happened.”

It was still slow, but his eyes widened with the realisation of what she was saying, but he felt his body struggling with the constant, tiring change that was reality, his heartbeat gradually starting to slow down and his limbs feeling more and more relaxed as he began to slip away again. And yet, he forced himself to stay as focused as he could.

“The police will visit later this week and you need to explain to them what really happened, do you understand?” They looked at each other for a silent moment, Phil's body frozen in time while his mind was digesting the information and trying to draw the parallels with the task at hand. He tried to understand the potential consequences Dan would have had for what had happened. He tried to picture everything from that night that he could recall.

It was a mess in his head, but he was certain. He knew where the comfort lied, and where there was danger.

Sharp tongues were not sharp knives in his memory.

“Phil?” He heard her speak again, but his eyes were closed already, and he slipped into sleep again, his dreams vivid and clear with the thoughts.

It was the first time in a while that his dreams made sense.

=====

“His motor abilities are currently still slowed down, but his mental abilities and memory have not been affected,” Phil sat, patiently allowing the doctor, whose name, ironically, kept escaping him all the time, explain to the two policemen his condition and assure his mental preparedness for giving his version of what had happened. 

Absentmindedly he squeezed the stress ball given to him earlier by the physician. Supposedly it was to help him get a grip on how to use his muscles properly again, but he found it more helpful when it came to finding a way to focus. Perhaps it was part of the intended use that he'd missed somehow within the instructions.

“Mister Lester,” The policemen nodded in greeting before settling on the chairs set next to Phil's bed, and a recording device was set on the small table by his bed “Ready?”

Eyes were on him and he nodded, hands wrapping around the stress ball to steady himself “Ready,” His voice was still faint and there was the trembling edge of effort that went into the clearer pronunciation, but he paid it no mind, blue eyes expectantly studying the uniform-clad figures. 

“Please tell us what happened the night you were attacked.”

“Dan and I...” Phil began and there was something so unexplainably homey in pronouncing these words again, it was as if things were unchanged, and through everything that had gone wrong in their lives, it was still the two of them. It was like saying 'Dan and I' had become the perfect substitute to any other pronoun.

“We had a fight...” He took a moment to get accustomed to the feeling of his lungs filling and deflating as the words vibrated through them “He left…. Late…. To walk,” He swallowed, and tried to not pay mind to the scratchy sound of pen against the paper; though his words were recorded, there was more to his testimony and it was then when the true magnitude of this meeting hit him.

Dan was paying for something he didn't do, and Phil wasn't even certain that he knew just what this punishment was.

“It was late...” He spoke slowly, partially because he tried to sound certain and because there was a feeling of dread settled in his bones whenever he tried to think about what had happened “So I thought to….. Try to get him…. To come home?”

“And what happened then?” The policeman asked and there was something about the way he spoke that made Phil uncomfortable, as if he was demanding something untrue from Phil.

“I didn't find him…… He might've…. Ran. He does that…. Sometimes….” And there was a bit of serenity in his words, remembering the very few times that this had happened, when Dan had literally fled from problems, but most of the time Phil had been sure that Dan would return soon after. It was only twice that he had felt the looming distress that lead him to follow the younger man.

“So you were headed home when you couldn't find him?” There was a lingering disbelief in the fairly neutral voice of the man who was leading Phil's story and Phil nodded “Yes.”

There was tension in his limbs, all across his body and he shifted, uncomfortable with the feeling but unable to truly help it. His breath, sucked in quicker than necessary, trembled the slightest bit. 

“I was almost…. Home,” And he realised how much he missed home, missed the feeling of the fingertips on his cheek and the taste of the familiar warm breath on his lips “When a man in…. A dark red-- maroon h-hoodie,” His breath hitched again and he stopped, steadying himself and focusing on not letting the fear jumble up his thoughts again. 

“He had a cigarette,” He tried to recall the details as best as he could “Unlit. I thought he…. Wanted to ask for a light….” He muttered the words out quicker than his breath could follow and the volume of his voice was faltering. There was a shift as one of the policeman moved, and for a moment Phil thought that he would say something but there was only silence and two pairs of eyes looking at him, expectantly. 

“I apologised….. He suddenly…. Leapt at me and…..” A memory of metallic flash and the excruciating pain that followed caused him to flinch, fingers digging into the stress ball with more might than his muscles were familiar with and his joints ached, but it was numbed out by the prickling and pulling at his chest. His breaths were uneven and he felt how his heart jerked in fear, in the need to flee, like he had felt that night though he knew that he couldn't.

There was a reminiscence of something wrong in his chest, something foreign forcing its' way into his ribcage and he whimpered a little. 

He'd promised to keep himself composed.

He knew how important this was.

But he couldn't bring himself to say the words, his throat tightening.

“He stabbed you,” The policeman concluded for Phil and he nodded, the only way he could seem to acknowledge the reality of what had happened that night. He'd been so worried about Dan being mugged and the irony of it being him who ended up bleeding out on the pavement was something that he would've laughed about if it would be him and Dan discussing fictional scenarios. 

It took a while until he managed to find his voice again, push the memories aside enough to speak again, and when he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed, though dry, and he found it harder to pronounce words clearly “It was'n-- was not Dan….. he was s-short, b-broad….” He tried to recall the hooded figure but the memory was bleeding with crimson and maroon, imaginary smoke and blackness. It bled with his life and the moment of terror, the understanding that he was about to die. 

That he was alone then.

“P-please….” He pleaded, quietly, and his head was swimming, overwhelmed “Let Dan….. come home….”

======

There was the cotton-coated murmur of voices behind the door, and Phil clung onto his mother's cardigan with as much force as he could muster, his face pressed against her side in the same way he had done when he was younger. It was the only comfort that he could find, the weakness making him feel helpless and the memories leaving a terribly tense headache at the back of his head.

Her fingers threaded through his hair gently, and she hushed and hummed a familiar childhood tune. 

“You did well, honey,” She reassured him when his fingers twisted into her clothing more again. 

“He'll be here before you know it,” And somehow, hearing it from her was the only confirmation that he needed.


	12. Ratio legis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Mentions of thoughts of death.

It had been quiet, too quiet. A bit more than a week had passed since the dream had occurred and Dan found himself restless because of it. The last phone call exchange had warned Dan that no visitors were due to arrive this time and he couldn't blame them. His routine was harmful for everyone outside. Even though Martyn had suggested that PJ and Sophie had wanted to stop by, finally having been able to find time to make the trip to London, Dan had declined, unwilling to cause any additional worry.

It didn't help that guards had been looming all over him since the fight in the showers. It felt like he was the one dangerous and impure, as if they were watching him for misstepping rather than watching out for him. And in a way he couldn't blame them; the days after he had finally returned to his cell had been full of commotion and Dan had been aware of the sneers, the glares, had seen how some would avoid him while others would be held back by their pals from approaching Dan. 

Clearly, the news had gone around quickly, and his physical outlook had been enough of a confirmation, too. 

Dan, however, was preoccupied.

The shock from the dream was still apparent and questions plagued his mind, often times causing him to pace around the cell long enough until one day Larry had gotten annoyed enough to chuck a book in his general direction. It missed by a landslide; something that Dan had noticed over the long months was that the other man's aim was quite terrible, sometimes with even just setting something on the table. Nevertheless, the tossed book had caught Dan's attention, a blank expression on his face when he calmly picked it up from the floor to close and toss it on the other man's bed. 

“Can you stop pacing, you're driving me insane,” The large man grumbled, and Dan stopped, looking at Larry for a quiet moment. 

“And stop staring,” There was a bit more aggressive note in the voice, but instead of doing as he was told, Dan sat on his own bed, leaning his elbows on his legs, and forward to watch the other man more intently.

“Did you do it?” The question left his lips before he even thought it through properly and suddenly the three man cell became unusually silent.

“What the hell are you on about?” Larry, in that already familiar always-annoyed tone, asked after a small hesitation though Dan had a feeling that he understood.

“When I arrived, Spike said that you're in for a similar crime as me, did you do it?” Dan insisted, his tone calm, not really frightful of the reaction his nosiness might cause.

Springs of Spike's bed creaked, the only reminder that there was the third man in the room, but Dan could tell that the thief was preparing for the conversation to get out of hand. Or perhaps he was listening carefully as well, to hear the full story.

“They think I did, so what does it matter whether I actually did it or not?” There was if only a little bit of discomfort in the way that Larry reached out for the book and turned the leaves to find where he had left off, brows furrowed just a little bit and it was clear that the other man was withholding something. “Would it change anything if I actually tried to say it out loud again?” If not for the fact that Dan was staring at the other man, he might've missed the low question, but he didn't pry any further.

Dark eyes turned to look at Spike whose posture was a strange mixture of peace and tension.

“Wouldn't you be in max security?” Dan questioned, and he realised that it was the first time since his arrival that he had tried to find out anyone else's story. So many different convicts, and yet the medium security prison was a strange place, where the most diverse convicts could be seen.

Rudy, and his questionable habits, muttering and eventual psychological reevaluation.

Stanley, whose whole posture and mannerism spoke of a merciless brute, yet still allowed to roam around semi-freely until caught in an illegal act on the premises. 

Larry and the way Dan was beginning to suspect that he was an unfortunate man, weaker than his initial reactions and posture liked to portray, always attached to books as if they were his only escape.

And Spike, whose mouth was a tight-lipped smile as he regarded Dan with that cool gaze.

“We all get by the way we can,” The tension disappeared from his posture as he leaned against the wall and stretched his arms out in front of him, eyes trained on the long fingers as he bent them several times before saying anything else “And prison's a better alternative to sleeping on the streets again.”

Dan sat there, quiet, and his mind was fuller than he could handle, a familiar nudge behind his brow announcing where the thoughts were starting to boil over.

“What about you, boy?” A part of the nickname had remained, and Dan felt some relief when he realised that 'murder' had been dropped from it somewhere along the way “Feeling like you need to clear your conscience or remind yourself of the reality?”

As their gazes met, Dan was taken aback by that little wink sent his way, and Spike's mouth was still a smile when the man turned around, picking up the letter that he'd been reading earlier, all but effectively leaving Dan on his own and with his thoughts once more.

Dan found bliss in the silence.

Though his mind was buzzing, the strange, brief exchange with the two other man had relieved him from the initial weight that he hadn't realised had been there. It was a level of understanding that he had lacked.

======

The excessive silence was uncomfortable. 

He tossed and turned in the night, staring across the dark room unseeingly, and it was as if his heart was sitting in his throat with anticipation. The only problem was that Dan didn't know what he was anticipating. 

His thoughts were crawling one over the other, trying to take the foreplan of his mind, only to cause him to grumble lowly and he turned over, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling that he had grown so used to seeing. It was part of that forsaken routine, to awaken at different times and to find that the surroundings were not warm, were not home, and it didn't matter what he tried to do, what he tried to imagine, every corner felt hostile and sharp.

The light flooded in through the window, a far-away chirping of the early birds reaching him and he drew in a breath, eyes shut to the world.

He stretched out his fingers by his sides, and allowed a thought to bloom. A single flower turned into a dozen, their petals gentle to the touch and he ran his fingers lightly across them. There was the ghost of blades of grass and there was the chatter of wind in the leaves of the aspens. There was the warmth of the sun on his skin.

“Howell!” He stirred awake to the sound of his surname and the sound of the opening cell door. He blinked, confounded, and it took a moment to realise that he had fallen asleep while in his little fantasy. 

“What?” He rolled over, pushing himself up as he rubbed his face only to look up at the guard now stood before him while another one remained by the door; it was too early for breakfast.

“You have visitors,” Was the only explanation that he was given before he was ushered out of the cell and down the halls. 

“Isn't there only one visitation day per week?” He tried to ask, his question unsure, though he had lived with this order of things for months now. He knew exactly when the visitation days were, when and how long the calls were, at what time they had to rise and when to sleep. 

“Special circumstance,” Again, the answer was curt, not willing to elaborate any other details and Dan racked his brain of what the special circumstances could be. His heart nearly stopped entirely when the one option resonated logically and he nearly tripped while crossing a threshold, just moments away from his visitors.

Death.

That was the only reason he could see for them to be so secretive, for not just telling him what was going on.

Dan always thought that he would cry, scream, would lose his mind and trash if he ever got such news. In reality, his world was quiet, he was emotionless and it felt like the life had been drained from his limbs and he was a robotic, empty shell, just following the body in front of his that led him through the numerous count of doors. 

His life was over. It would drain away with Phil's and it took him everything to not just turn around and numbly deny the visit. To avoid facing the reality pronounced in words.

It wouldn't matter anymore anyway.

A simple wooden door was the last obstacle in his way and he was soon met with the different colouration of lights in the visiting room, void of unfamiliar faces at the first glance. He later noted the two policemen standing aside, but he paid them no mind.

Numbly, he stood there, surveying the faces of a mixture of Howell and Lester families in that second that it took them to finally fully grasp his presence.

Suddenly, a body collided with his and he was enveloped in a tight embrace, dark brown hair in his face and his mother's voice close as she spoke his name, the tone relieved, cheering, instead of mournful. He flinched instinctively, having grown to know only hostile touch, and it was awkwardly that he patted her back in return. 

Something wasn't right. Or at least something wasn't adding up to the truth he'd come to accept even before he was told about it.

There were no mournful glances, save for the pity, even a bit of guilt in some that he hadn't seen for a longer time. There were smiles, the room lit up not only with the slowly cloud-blocked London sunlight, but also with the relief and excitement.

It was then that it hit him that his mother was hugging him and the mere thought threw him off for a moment (He remembered clearly the instructions reminded him every time he had a visitor - no touching), and it took him pulling his mum away gently and looking her in the face that he began to understand. The news were not what he had anticipated.

No. It was something completely different.

“Oh, Dan,” She spoke and the gentleness exceeded any that he'd ever heard from her, but his muscles still tensed when she reached out to touch his cheek affectionately.

“What...” He finally spoke, looking past her and seeking out the one face he'd come to rely on for information. That face which had held hopelessness the last few times that they had met, but now was beaming and coming closer and suddenly Martyn's hand was on his shoulder, a light pat, nothing more.

“He woke up, Dan,” The words felt like the most impossible set of syllables to his ears and he looked the other man in the eyes for a moment, feeling the touch of his mother as she lightly stroked his arm, finally having noted his confusion “He's up. And he's fine.”

=====

The faces present were mostly happy. Family chattering away happily and promising things that Dan could barely believe in. It was all so different, and he couldn't fully grasp the concept that it was possible for him to not rot away in this place or a similar, or even harsher one.

It was when the policemen and the same lawyer from those months ago sat before him, having been cleared the way for, once some of the family had poured out, leaving only a few people there with them, that the idea was finally beginning to make sense.

“Five days ago Mister Lester gave his testimony and since then he has gone through additional questioning, in which he described the attacker which doesn't match your description in the least,” It was strange to Dan, to hear something Phil had done that wasn't a long-gone memory and rather something recent, “Therefore it gives us the right to file for an appeal, which should guarantee your release and full clearing of your name,” He could hear the words but meaning came to him slow.

Phil.

He was awake again, and had been able to speak. 

He was awake and he was alive.

He wasn't gone.

Dan hid his face in his hands, allowing the reality to sink in. To let it break through the numbness that had taken over the majority of his being to shield him from the worst outcomes and negativity.

“Additionally, we have the right to file a complaint or even sue the news channel for violation of privacy,” He felt his skin crawl at the memory of the news report, and he slowly shook his head. “You don't have to make this decision now, but it would be safe to assume that the sooner this is addressed, the bigger chance you have at winning the case.”

Too tired to argue or to try and explain himself, he nodded, finally looking at up again and suddenly he became aware of the weight on his body. The tension had found a permanent residence in his limbs, the negativity had eaten away at him the same way as slurs and fists had chipped away at the remains of his wilting body and heart. 

His face felt bloated, foreign on his own skin, and he was slow to acknowledge that his lips were his own before he spoke.

“Can I talk to him?” And for the first time the things he felt flooded into his tone, making for a weak and wounded sound, the words pleading around the edges and breaking in the centre. 

“I'll see what I can arrange,” Martyn spoke whilst looking over at the police officers for approval, his hand resting on Dan's shoulder, comforting.

“We'll have to see about the legal processes involved in the appeal of such case, but there's a chance.”

And though it was not an explicit yes, it was a lot more than Dan had expected when entering the room earlier.


	13. Peccavi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Just a lot of mental ups and downs, coma toll.

“I better not see you again, boy,” The last words and the smiling face of Spike and the nod of Larry were still fresh in his memory, ringing into his ears and occupying his senses that were struggling with the terrible sense of deja vu that he was experiencing. 

He hated it, though consciously he understood - it wouldn't be the same. 

It had taken a week and it was a week full of erratic sleep and lack of belief in the process that was being carried out. It was a week in which he became more aware of the people surrounding him and the way that there was hostility in the air at some points and the air of complete lack of care in others. It was as if some finality had settled into the corners and it was looming everywhere he looked.

For some reason, it felt wrong. 

He was aware of his innocence, had been made to retrace everything that had happened before, and what had been used to put him in this situation. He was reassured numerous times that he was going to walk free before he would know it.

Yet it still felt so wrong and he couldn't shake the feeling no matter the amount of words used and hopes raised. 

It felt wrong to be pushed into the back seat of a police car, especially when his arms were not bound. 

It felt wrong to be brought to the house of justice, when the reality was clear already.

It felt wrong to feel the way he did. It made his skin prickly, uncomfortable. 

Nothing felt right in his own head though things were going towards the better life.

He found himself lost between the two; the “guilty” Dan from months ago who still, despite everything, secretly had harboured the smallest lingering hope of better days, and the “innocent” Dan now, whose joints were aching from the wringing of his fingers and whose heartbeat was somewhere in his head, making him feel unwell, the one who wasn't even sure if he was worthy of remembering and if his name was worthy of being cleared.

It was the feeling of being suddenly put in the spotlight that he didn't crave for. It was like he was a small kid suddenly told to do a presentation in front of a huge crowd of his peers and serious adults. 

Dan really did feel like a kid; small and powerless. Everyone was more knowledgeable than him and one word of theirs held more power than a million of his own. His truth was not theirs and he was about to be reminded of it again.

He was shaking.

The smoothness of the fabric felt foreign on his skin. So used to the scratchy and stiff cotton of his clothing and sheets in the past months, this now made him feel naked. The feeling was too light and smooth, too air-like and he couldn't help but to curl his fingers into the dress shirt that they had made him wear and pull at it until the seams were cutting into his skin. To feel the pain against his skin was the harsh home that he was familiar with. One he didn't know he had accepted as his own. The one that made him pay with bits of his former self and soul. 

He kept on tugging at the shirt even when they had arrived and a jacket had been thrown over his shoulders to shield him from the unpleasant autumn weather that the warmth of the summer was turning into. 

It was a blur. 

Stone steps, wooden doors, the shine of soothingly warm lights and endless murmurs of voices everywhere. It all felt familiar, yet he felt foreign to the place and to the somewhat familiar sights. 

It was him, yet most of who he was had been lost and with it so had been the feeling of belonging.

Another door and he stopped.

A breath broke from between his lips in a small gasp when the reality began to sink in. He had been told the news, he'd been promised this meeting, he'd even been reassured because they were using a real testimony and yet, it was difficult to believe.

He was about to see Phil again. Awake and well. 

He had been awaiting this moment ever since the news, even before that and yet now that he was only moments away, there was something else overshadowing that longing and excitement. 

Suddenly he felt like his feet were glued to the ground and his whole body became rigid, unmoving. 

“Howell?” The voice of the accompanying policeman tried to reach him but he didn't react to it. Instead he stared at the door, still closed on him though he could hear the people beyond. 

Was he really worthy to look him in the eye again?

Though he hadn't held the knife, had never even considered harming Phil, his mind kept whispering guilty thoughts at him. 

He'd caused this in the first place.

He was not as innocent as people thought.

He couldn't lie to them nor to himself. 

He was at their mercy and every decision was theirs.

“Go on,” He was suddenly prodded when the door opened and he, stumbling over his own feet, entered the courtroom and instantly felt the shift in the air. He didn't have to look up to feel all the eyes on him, to hear the small gasps and whispers, to notice the shuffling and to understand that there were far too many people there, too many aware of his shame, too many, too much, he couldn't--

“D-Dan?” It was a lot more strained than he remembered it but he recognised the voice in an instant, and his head shot up to seek out the source. 

His eyes soon landed on a familiar face, hollow-cheeked and ill-looking with how unnaturally pale it still looked even for Phil, but the blue eyes still held the same kind of shine, though now filled with shock and worry, and it was at that moment when Dan became a lot more aware of his own change. His fingers curled tighter, his legs felt numb, he felt the still fairly fresh scarring and the remains of bruises all over his body. 

Yet, he couldn't care about it enough, and his heart felt like it had shattered in a million of pieces when his gaze noted the way Phil was seated in a wheelchair, tucked in with a blanket over his lap. How the other man's whole posture looked weakened and unnaturally thin, and how his fingers were trembling, even of only a little bit, when they reached towards Dan. 

There was something frail in the aura of the other man who had only emitted light before, even at his worst, and Dan didn't even realise when his bottom lip had begun quivering and when his fingers had curled into the dress shirt even tighter, straining the seams.

He'd done this to Phil. He'd taken his mobility, his strength and vitality. 

He'd taken it all and he hadn't even paid half the price.

The words escaped without any warning and his voice was trembling as he spoke “I-I'm s-sorry,” but before Phil could respond, Dan felt the prod and he was lead away from the other man, and towards the front of the room, his eyes downcast once again, now filled with water.

=====

His sentencing had been a flash, his clearing - an eternity. 

It was the same routine; to stand and sit when told to, to speak and reply to questions when addressed. To confirm or deny the bits of the story that had plagued his days and nights. To explain the cause for these effects.

His skin was too hot for the ice in his spine, and he felt like he would collapse whenever he heard Phil's name, whenever he heard the man's voice giving short, hitched-breath and tired-sounding answers to questions. For whenever that familiar voice pronounced his own name and how there was that softness in there, though Dan felt like it should be filled with hatred. 

They recited the events and it was in Phil's hitched voice that he would hear the explanation of what happened that night. Every word was like a slap in Dan's face, confirming what he'd known; it was his fault, because he couldn't find it in himself to sit with Phil and find compromise and instead he'd thought of a stupid walk in the middle of the night. It was because of him that this had happened.

As his name was cleared word by word, his soul sank further, darkening, withering.

The gavel fell, it echoed inside his skull, and he realised that only a small fracture of the imagined time had passed, and suddenly his sentence was cleared, and he was a free man again. 

Congratulations poured through the room, some polite cheers, and numerous sets of steps echoed as people began to pour out of the room as instructed. Yet Dan stood there, head hung low, where he'd been left, unmoving and loathing how he couldn't find even the smallest joy in his new-found freedom. Fingers curled into the shirt again, and he pulled and pulled until he heard the low crack when a thread gave in and snapped somewhere. His eyes were shut, tightly, the wetness springing from the ducts again but not enough to fall. 

He felt so empty, yet so full though watching from a distance, and he hated this detached feeling. 

He wanted to punch the table in front of him, yet he didn't.

He wanted to collapse on the spot, to shy away from the shame, but he remained unmoving.

He didn't even realise how much he'd been shaking until a hand rested against his arm, warm and familiar despite the way it would tremble and how Dan could feel the joints jutting out. 

“Dan?” This time, the voice addressing him was steadier and a shiver ran down his spine in a way that he hadn't experienced before. No matter the dread of abuse or the fright of being cornered by someone the likes of Stanley, even the general accusations of the law and peers had never caused him to feel the prickling of skin as if boiling hot water had been poured behind the hem of his shirt mercilessly. The voice was so gentle, like the softest of feathers, yet it cut him to hear it concerned instead of angry. 

He didn't deserve to be pitied, to be forgiven and referred to so lovingly.

Without a word, he turned, avoiding to look Phil in the eyes, and slunk down to his knees in front of the older man, not caring for the people around them, some of which had at first reached out as if to hold Dan upwards. 

He ignored them all. 

He slunk to his knees and pressed his forehead against those boney knees that he had often complained were pressing against his thigh uncomfortably when Phil tossed around in his sleep. The blanket that had been draped over Phil's lap was too soft, the likeness of the tone of Phil's voice. 

“I am….” He finally found his voice again, the words heavy and choking him “So…. so sorry, Phil...” There was a hush somewhere above him but he could not stop, lips forming one apology after the other, all low, murmured and pushing through his throat too painfully to handle.

It was only halted when a familiar palm settled on the top of Dan's head, threading through the short hair gently, and he released a soft gasp, his shoulders slumping even more, and the shiver was slowly begin to pass. 

“Shh, Dan,” Phil's tone, strained around the edges, and his breath a bit too loud in Dan's ears, tried to soothe and the palm trailed away from his head and to the cheek. Dan tensed as the fingertips trailed over one of the scars that was still healing, but remained cemented to the spot.

He felt the warmth, the familiar softness and lightness of the touch, and, with another hush, he suddenly realised.

“Oh Dan, what have they done to you….” The words were so quiet that Dan would have thought that he'd imagined them if not for the gentle touch of a set of warm lips against the top of his head, sending electricity running down his spine.

The worst had passed.

=====

The worst had, apparently, not passed. At least not entirely.

It had taken some coaxing until Dan had finally gotten up from the ground, his legs and back aching from the uncomfortable position. As soon as he had risen, he felt Phil's unusually boney hand carefully slip into his, questioning and overall cautious and it had taken everything from Dan to not succumb to the mixture of emotions there and then as he wrapped his fingers around Phil's palm, tightly enough to show that he didn't want to let go but gently enough to avoid hurting the other man any more than he already had. 

“Phil, Dan, there you are,” Suddenly Martyn materialised in front of them and Dan automatically retreated half a step, taken aback by the sudden and slightly alarmed appearance of the older man. He felt Phil's thumb drawing small, slow circles on the back of his hand, trying to keep Dan calm and he forced himself to draw in a breath.

“What is--” He began but stopped when instead of a single voice there were two, in a manner that he had grown out of being used to hear and his eyes instantly shot over to look at Phil who was smiling at him in that familiar sheepish manner and motioning for Dan to finish their question. Dan, however, couldn't look away, and something in him felt brighter just from seeing that smile.

“What is it?” Phil, once he had understood that Dan wouldn't finish the question, took the liberty to do that and he was the one to tear his gaze away from Dan, and instantly Dan's heart sunk again, his eyes turning to look down at the tips of his shoes and his free hand began fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

“There are some…. Journalists,” The older Lester brother seemed mildly annoyed, whilst Dan felt like curling in on himself. His head and sides began to ache with a ghost pain, a reminder of the harm done. The harm _they_ had done. Without realising, he retracted the hand from Phil's grasp and hugged himself.

He felt the eyes on him, but he couldn't find it in himself to respond, too tired out by everything and life, though he'd been given another chance just moments ago. He felt the pity, the worry in the gazes on his skin, the way Phil's fingertips brushed against the his hip lightly before dropping into the man's lap, and the way how so many questions hung in the air, left unsaid. 

“Ah, thanks Cornelia,” He heard the exchange but didn't dare to raise his gaze, only doing so when he felt a soft, warm material cover his shoulders and head. When he looked up it was Cornelia and she was adjusting the hood of his jacket to cover his face as much as it could “The yellow pages can kindly go to hell today,” She offered Dan a smile and he returned it weakly, the warmth of the fabric pleasant and secure.

He was thankful that the rest of their preparation had been done in relative silence.

=====

There were several flashes as soon as they walked out the door and a murmur of voices trying to address him and Phil, and everyone surrounding them. But he kept walking on, trying to zone them out the same way he had with the slurs what felt like an eternity ago.

Stubbornly, he set one foot in front of the other, only stopping when Martyn helped Phil up from the wheelchair, Dan's heart trembling when he noted the way that the tall, lean frame wobbled on his feet. Yet, despite that, Phil insisted on standing, on walking, even if clumsy on his feet “We'll get away sooner,” The low mutter didn't escape Dan and he wanted to reach out, to pull Phil up and carry him away from the mistakes that Dan had made.

He felt useless though, when Phil leaned his weight onto his brother and tucked the hood over his eyes.

He felt so out of place. His private space breached and the flashes invasive. They set a particularly familiar headache behind his brow and made his heart sink, body angled to try and stand in front of Phil, to try and shield him from the shame.

There were too many people, and they were crowding too close.

The voices were worse than the echoes of the prison cafeteria chatter.

The questions felt like violent jabs and he clenched his jaw to maintain his composure as they moved down the stairway slowly, pushing past the offending voices and lights.

“Is it true that you were involved in an abuse case within the prison?” The particular question stuck out from the rest and his blood ran cold, the image of Stanley flashing before his eyes and turning red. His movements were automatic, robotic even, as he stopped and turned around, though he felt the hand that was trying to pull him away from the journalists, to try and lead him to the taxi already waiting for them at the foot of the staircase.

“How about you mind your fucking business?!” He hissed at them through gritted teeth and his fingers curled into fists. This only caused an uproar of more questions and another flash nearly blinded him, sending his mind into overdrive and he swung, full of anger, at the closest journalist, ready to knock them all out, to kick them out of their lives forever, to hurt them enough so the basic human decency would return to them--

A strong grip on his arm stopped him and suddenly he was yanked back and away, and before he knew it, he was pushed into the taxi, soon followed by Martyn whose grip was still strong on him. Too strong, and Dan found himself trying to pull away. 

“Hey, calm down,” The grip disappeared, but Dan still didn't feel right. He wanted to push the other man away and tried to scramble over to the empty side of the cab to put some distance between them “What-- Dan, relax, everything's fine.” The initial lining of anger and shock had made way for the concern, but Dan just curled up in the corner of the seat, tugging the hood over his eyes, trying to block out the lights, the sounds, the memories.

“What happened?” The hitching voice of Phil resonated weakly through the pulsing terror in Dan's head when Cornelia helped him into the cab, having taken over when Martyn had spotted Dan's outburst. 

He could hear the murmurs of voices, the rumble of the engine, but it was only the touch of familiar hand, first gently running over his shoulder, then - across his shoulder blades, that managed to push through to him.

“Dan, come on, come….. Here,” He heard a slight wheeze, before his body was gently, a little weakly, pulled out of the corner until he was resting against the warmth of another body. A familiar body though the edges were sharper and it felt like Dan had the capacity of crushing him.

He released his hood and reached out, tangling his fingers into the fabric of Phil's hoodie as he pressed his face against the other man's shoulder, gasping a little as he breathed. 

He drew in one breath, then another, and a familiar yet forgotten warmth began to fill him, the soft touch drawing slow circles on his back. The scent of a body that he'd missed filled his nostrils and he held onto the other man, at first desperately, but soon he relaxed in the embrace and his hands slipped around Phil, drawing the other man in as close as he could and he buried his face in the nook of Phil's neck.

“I thought that I had lost you….” He spoke, barely above a whisper, and his grip around the other man tightened though his consciousness was tired. 

He felt the shift, the way that Phil nuzzled his face into the side of Dan's hood, and he realised how light Phil's hold was, how heavy Phil felt against him, how the breath somewhere next to his ear was shallow. He pulled away, just enough to look the other man in the face and it was then that he realised that Phil was asleep in his arms.

Dan looked at Martyn and Cornelia, at first concerned, only to relax when the two offered the two young men a soft smile. He looked back at Phil, before leaning back into the seat and carefully pulling Phil to rest against him.

The feeling of warmth and weight, the way his arms felt right around the frailer form, the way Dan knew that Phil was merely asleep. It made him realise.

Phil was alive.

He was there.

And Dan had the privilege of holding him once more.

There was a small smile on Phil's lips as if to say that what they felt was mutual.


	14. Nec spe, nec metu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week (21.05.2017) there WON'T be a new chapter due to some life things that have come up having stalled my writing process and I would prefer to give you quality chapters <3 I hope you understand. So the next update after this will be on 28.05.2017. If anything changes, I will be posting about it on my tumblr at etoilesdephan.tumblr.com so feel free to follow me there for updates <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter today!

The wall against his cheek was cool, and his eyes were sore, but he refused to sleep though the majority of his limbs had gone absolutely numb already. He breathed, too much heat in his lungs that he couldn't expel no matter the amount of breaths he took and released.

His thoughts were lonesome beeps and muffled steps.

“Dan?” The voice was quiet and the touch to his shoulder was just as light as his name had been in that breath. Her touch was so light that the thick layers of the shirt, hoodie and a blanket on his shoulders made it virtually impossible to feel in his semi-delirious state that he'd fallen into somewhere along the way to the hospital. “You need to get some rest, and the doctor wants to have a look at you before that” Cornelia's tone was motherly and he was drawn to that sound though a part of him still wanted to fight, but was too exhausted to do so. 

His eyes were glued to the sleeping form of Phil, hauled into the hospital bed and tucked into the white sheets. Dan counted each breath, noting it to his memory. 

“One hundred ninety three,” He didn't notice when his lips moved, the breaths too hot on them still as his voice poured sound into the numbers “One hundred ninety four,” He watched the rise and fall of the chest, the way Phil's lips were slightly apart “One hundred…. Ninety five,” He felt a light squeeze on his shoulder and Dan sucked in a breath, held it before releasing “One hundred ninety six,” His voice was barely audible.

“Come on, love,” She was soft, gentle, as she slowly pulled him onto his feet and secured the blanket around his shoulders again when it began to slip off, Dan's fingers too numb to hold on. 

His eyes remained on the sleeping figure, his lips pronouncing the numbers soundlessly. Dan's knees almost buckled when he began to move, each step more reluctant than the previous until they reached the door and he stopped, his neck craned to keep his eyes on Phil.

“Come on, Dan, he'll still be here later, he'll be fine,” She assured and she ran her hand over his back in a reassuring manner only for Dan to pull away a little. 

“But what if...” He began and trailed off, but finally pried his eyes away from the sleeping figure when he felt his body being pulled to look at Cornelia, her hands firm on his shoulders and his heartbeat increased for a moment until he was met with the softness in her eyes.

“No what ifs. He will be fine, he's recovering, and mum will arrive soon, she'll keep an eye on him while you're gone,” The confidence in her voice rendered him speechless and he let his head bow as he nodded, his eyelids heavy and very slow to open again. 

“Okay,” He mouthed and that was enough.

=====

“Now, we'll need to do some basic checkup, so if you could remove your hoodie and shirt,” The booming male voice was louder than most that Dan had encountered in hours and though he had reluctantly given up the blanket, his fingers curled into the soft material of the hoodie, unwilling to comply with the request. Instead, he shrunk in his seat, shoulders slouched and head hung low as he pressed into the corner of the seat subconsciously. 

“Mister Howell?” And though there was no malice in the voice, Dan soon found himself shaking his head, slowly, but surely and he pulled his legs close, the heels clumsily resting on the very edge of the chair as he shifted. 

“I'm fine,” Dan muttered quietly, curling up as much as possible for his tall form in the seat when the doctor stepped closer. 

“I would like to really make sure of that, for your own sake,” The man spoke and the fight in Dan's limbs began to disappear, his head too light with the lack of sleep and the magnitude of what had happened in the last twenty-four hours. 

Before he had realised it, there was a hand on his jaw, and a flash of fear ran through Dan's whole being.

“Fussy, aren't we?” A heavy voice, thick and poisonous filled Dan's ears and instantly he froze, eyes wide and frightful as he looked up at the doctor who had stopped as well.

“W-w-what?” Dan stuttered out and it was only then that he realised how much he was shaking again.

“I asked if you could open your mouth,” A much calmer and softer voice addressed him and Dan blinked, drawing in a shaky breath before complying. He couldn't stop himself from shaking though, even after the initial checks had been done, clearly skipping a couple of steps for the sake of his comfort. He felt like the thickness had settled in his own throat, bubbling in his chest with every breath he drew. The ghost of a touch on his jaw, rough fingers digging into the soft skin, was still there, when he was finally released, a couple of forms crumpled in his hand. 

“H-hey Dan, wait up!” A hand landed on his shoulder, stopping him from walking aimlessly away from the doctor's office and he stopped, feet as if glued on the spot suddenly. The papers in his hand crumpled more when his fingers curled into them. He only released them when Martyn gently tugged the forms out of his grasp. 

Martyn watched him, but Dan refused to look up, his whole frame trembling and swaying a little. The hand never left his shoulder and he didn't make an effort to shake it off. 

“Let's get you home,” When he didn't say anything, Martyn sighed and briefly eyed the forms the doctor had given to Dan. He began to guide Dan ahead and Dan obediently followed the lead, feet dragging on the sterile hospital floor, head hanging low, and the world swimming before his eyes. 

He was so tired, and the sleep was enveloping his mind in a similar manner that the cell walls had for so long.

Several pairs of shoes came into his blurry view and he looked up when one stepped particularly close and he saw Mrs Lester looking at him, arms open a little to offer a hug, but no matter how much he knew it would be courteous to accept, he couldn't make himself move, and she soon let her hands fall by her sides. Dan expected to see disappointment, but she only smiled “I'm so glad to see you out of that terrible place,” She spoke and Dan offered her a tired smile in return. 

They held gazes for a while longer, Dan's mouth mute, eyes - unfocused as they looked at the elder woman. She never pried any answer from him.

“These were prescribed by Dr. Hoffner,” Martyn spoke up, handing the forms to his mum, and Dan was thankful when the main attention was drawn away from him. Instead, he pulled the hood back on and over his eyes, trying to block out the lights a little, the noise. His limbs were weak but there was a purpose in them. 

Without minding to ask or explain it to either of the Lesters present, Dan began to walk, slowly but steadily, and the shivers were still present in his core when he arrived by the door and pushed it open. Purposefully he kept pacing on and only when faced with the sleeping expression of Phil did he finally allow himself to stop.

He watched the rise and fall of the chest as he sat down in the chair next to the bed, arms wrapped around his body, the palms hidden in the sleeves as he curled his fingers into the fabric and held on as tightly as he could.

There was finally peace, and his guilty thoughts subsided, slowly and unwillingly. They twisted and tugged at him, but he was too spent to react to it and gradually a certain nothingness enveloped him.

The life felt dreamlike, but he didn't dare to reach out, to touch Phil, in that lingering fear that the other man would disappear and he would wake up in the cell again. If this were actually dream, he'd rather sit here for the rest of the eternity, because he hadn't felt this close in far too long, and he was unwilling to lose it.

One heavy blink, and he found it hard to reopen his eyes, the picture before his eyes blurring for a second before it cleared.

Another heavy blink and there was a certain dizziness as his head nodded forward, but he tried to keep his gaze on the sleeping figure, his heart too full all of a sudden.

Once more his eyelids fell shut and they didn't reopen, the sleep taking over. Dan's neck strained a little from the uncomfortable position, but he didn't feel it anymore. 

=====

The image was warping in front of his eyes, red and black, like a swirl of watered down paint and it was everywhere. It was all around him and coming closer, trapping him as he stumbled to get out of its way. 

Whispers filled the air, menacing, and the hair stood on the back of his neck at the sound.

It was whispers that turned into hisses and before he knew it, they buzzed like a swarm of angry wasps, a poisonous laughter in the cacophony of millions and he curled up. 

He could not fight it. 

It was too close. 

There were too many. 

“Dan,” His eyes snapped open and he gasped, instantly looking up and a shooting pain ran down his neck, turning the gasp into a groan and his hand found the back of his neck instantly. 

It took several hard blinks until he realised his whereabouts. Everything was white and pastel, soothing and healing, and alive though the liveliness was absorbed into the muffled sound. The hospital felt welcoming, warmer than what he'd learned to known, and yet there were shivers still ever as present in his limbs. 

“Don't sleep t-.... There,” There was that hitch and a disgruntled sigh that followed and though when Dan looked up he saw a crease in Phil's forehead, it was still a soft regard that was offered to Dan in those eyes. 

“I'm sorry,” As if a trained answer, the words fell from Dan's lips without a second thought and it took a moment until he realised that he lacked a concrete context for the apology. 

Phil, however, didn't seem to mind that, and instead he held out a hand towards Dan, a small, crooked smile on his lips. ''Can I?'' He asked and the fingers curled a little to invite Dan closer, and he obeyed, pushing himself up though his joints protested and placed his hand into Phil's. It was a kind of a wonder that shone in Phil's eyes when their fingers met. Dan couldn't quite understand it.

“So I'm not dreaming,” The words said were so light that Dan almost missed them, save for that he saw the lips move and how he felt the light tug when Phil pulled at his arm to draw Dan in closer. 

“I was worried…. That this is another…. Dream,” Phil spoke softly, but the sound felt too exhausted to Dan's ears, as if it took just about everything in Phil to actually form the syllables and breathe sound into them. 

“Isn't it?” Dan questioned, just as quietly, inching closer to the bed more until it made sense to sit on the edge and he allowed his calloused fingers entwine with Phil's boney ones, where they felt like the perfect puzzles pieces despite how life had deformed them. “Because it sure as hell feels surreal,” He tried to smile, but his lips were too firm of a line, and he felt the heaviness pulling at the corners of his eyes still. 

“You look real,” Phil, with another crease that appeared in his forehead, looked at Dan from beyond the thick-rimmed glasses. “You feel real,” Dan felt himself being tugged closer and he obliged, only to flinch away when a hand reached for his face, his eyes widening for a moment until the fingertips gently pressed against his cheekbone.

“You're warm,” Though only a little, Dan leaned into the touch, and he felt the heaviness set in his lungs again, the excruciating heat burning up each breath. 

“This is a better reality to me,” Dan finally admitted after a moment, dark eyes set on much lighter ones and he came to realise, much more clearly than he had realised in weeks that had passed, how many nuances had faded from his memory, far too easily, no matter how diligently he had committed them to his memory.

This was Phil, and he was real. Softness lingering even in the sharpest of edges, and the warmth - in the coolest of tints in his irises. No matter how roughened their edges were, the touches were light and even at most angry, they hadn't turned hostile. 

Dan recalled himself pushing Phil away, harsh intention in the action.

Now Phil was tugging at him lightly, to draw him in. Dan allowed him to, if only to lean down, his face hidden between Phil's arm and side.

He couldn't say no to his wishes before already, but he felt like he had no right to take things away from Phil anymore.


	15. Solus ipse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I am back with a new chapter! <3 Hope you enjoy it!

“Careful now, Mr Lester,” The nurse said as she reached out to help Phil when the tall man wobbled on his feet and leaned against the nearest wall for support, his breath a slight wheeze again and his eyes shut tightly to stop the world from warping before him in that strange manner that it usually did on the sea. 

“I'm fine,” He raised his hand to stop her when the nurse came too close, too keen on helping him. 

He hated that dependency. 

He'd never been too difficult when it came to asking for help, but now it made him feel like he wasn't recovering quickly enough and, honestly, he was sick of being in bed so much, or sitting around. He wanted to move properly, like he was used to, to feel the tiredness after a long walk instead of the atrophy in his calves and back. He wanted to move and do things, to occupy his mind enough so the flashes of memories wouldn't haunt his idle brain.

He just wanted to feel normal again.

“Can we just…. Go back?” With defeat in the tone, he finally asked. 

Phil was disappointed in himself. He'd wanted to do it while Dan was asleep, but he knew it wasn't long enough of a time and Phil couldn't find it in himself anymore to push away from the wall and make the whole trip back to the room on his own without Dan noticing. After everything that had happened, Phil didn't want Dan to have to watch him struggle, for it seemed to fuel Dan's clear guilt about the entire situation.

And he just wanted to leave these recovery memories to the hospital alone.

He'd seen the worry, the pity, the way everyone seemed too keen to help him when Phil didn't want it, but could not fair without it either. He was weak and his lungs were still struggling though the medication had done wonders with reducing the wheeze and the bubbling sensation he would sometimes feel in his chest. 

“What…-- Phil?” There was a voice that resonated as soon as he entered the room, leaning his weight on the nurse. Instantly, as their eyes met, Dan jumped to his feet, hissing under his breath in that familiar manner from when the younger man had fallen asleep on the chair again and had strained his neck. 

“Don't, please,” Phil offered a small, apologetic smile when he saw the way Dan's hands were uncertainly reaching towards Phil, as ready to help as everyone that Phil had come across. They dropped by Dan's sides instantly and it pained Phil to see that trained submission. 

Finally settled on the edge of the bed, he waited until the nurse had gone and looked up, watching as Dan fidgeted and finally sat down in the chair again.

“Dan--” 

“Martyn called, he said he'll be here in about twenty minutes,” Dan interrupted and Phil allowed a smile settle on his features, more genuine again and he felt his chest warming up. It was a moment of normality, and though many would hate being talked over, it reminded Phil of many times of late nights spent just talking and how Dan would eventually say what Phil had thought anyways. 

That was soon gone again though, when Dan wrapped his hands around himself, and looked down at his knees rather than at Phil. It was a common sight that he'd come to notice far too often, and it was mostly when Dan had somehow stepped out of line, even if so much as to interrupt what Phil would say.

“Dan,” He began again, and finally that beautiful shade of brown was there for Phil to meet and he felt the familiar tingle that he'd seemingly forgotten about in the past years, too used to it. Now it was there and he focused on the feeling, allowed it to grow and take over, and he felt a little giddy, but contained it within. “What do you want to do?” He finally asked, proud of the clearly enunciated sentence.

“Is there anything you want to do?” The question was quick, and the eye contact was lost again when Dan looked somewhere past Phil's face instead. It made him want to reach out, to pull Dan to look at him again, to cradle his face gently and watch the stress melt away like it had so many late nights where work had become too much and the bills had piled up again. 

“I want to know what you want... to do,” Phil said, and there was silence that set as soon as the words were out there. 

It was an odd sight, to watch the realisation slowly, but surely dawn upon Dan, how the shoulders would relax a little and how his eyes would widen just a little bit, how the lips would part as if to speak or exclaim an oh. 

“I.... want to help you?” As if unsure if he's allowed to say that, Dan looked up with the question again and Phil just rolled his eyes at him, a fond smile once again gracing his features.

“Come here, Dan,” He patted the space next to him and Dan followed suit, their legs still dangling above the floor a little despite their height as the two men sat side by side. 

“What exactly happened there?” He asked, softly, head turned to watch the younger man who as if curled in on himself more upon the question. “I know you haven't been…. Telling us everything,” He drew a deeper breath and carefully lifted his arm to wrap it around Dan's back, feeling the tension in the other man's body again, as if it had found a permanent residence in him. 

“Just….” Dan finally spoke, the voice strained and the gaze absent “Everything went to shit because of me,” The words were expelled so heavily that Phil felt Dan's whole frame lean even more forward. But he was silent, just watching Dan sadly “I freaked out and then this shit happened and you're here now. And they thought it was me, and they were damn right,” He felt the angry shivers begin to take over and Phil ran his hand over Dan's back, trying to calm the younger man a little.

“It wasn't your fault,” Phil reassured, racking his flighty mind for better words “We were both…. Angry,” A small crease set into his forehead “We couldn't have known…. That it would happen.”

He felt his heartbeat thumping against the ribcage and he swallowed, trying to keep his raging mind steady, for the recollection of the last moments before he'd nearly lost it all to not take the first plan of his thoughts. 

He hoped that they would continue talking, but Dan had fallen silent, tiredly glaring at the chair he'd been sitting in far too much in the past days.

There was no answer to his actual question though. 

Phil didn't pry any further. 

For now.

======

“Hey guys,” Martyn regarded the two men still seated on the hospital bed in silence, shoulders touching and it was almost as if nothing had changed in the half a year that had passed at the first glance. Only upon closer look one could see how they both had changed; beaten by the world and struggling, bodies weakened and spirits broken. 

Phil remained seated though his back was aching with the need for rest and his mind was fighting the memories that were becoming more and more invasive by the passing minute. But it was that light touch against his side that made him hold on to the now and not let the past to hurt him any longer. 

Suddenly that presence was gone when Dan slid off the bed and stood up to make space for Martyn, wobbling in the process and it was only then that the ragged looks of Dan were finally beginning to sink in properly. But with that also did Phil's dread and the flash red hot images that were full of death and pain, and his heart was pounding too loud inside his chest, and there was a knot in his throat. 

Without thinking, he settled back into the bed, eyes staring across the edge of the railing at the foot of it. He still heard the two men as they began to exchange the standard pleasantries and fell into the calm questions and answers, successfully avoiding the bigger issues at hand.

That is, until a louder, slightly annoyed voice finally broke through that budding panic inside Phil's skull.

“You really should come with me when I go home; you need proper rest,” Martyn insisted and Dan moved a step further away from the older Lester brother while shaking his head.

“Please don't fight back, even the nurses are starting to ask for you to go home, but you've ignored all of them,” Martyn continued and Dan just kept shaking his head, at first slowly, but with every moment the movement became more and more certain. 

“Dan, stop this, you're coming to mine and Cornelia's place tonight,” Finally Martyn's voice broke a little from the calm that the man seemed to display most of the times and that seemed to finally pull an answer out from Dan. 

It was low and steady, despite the way that Dan was swaying on his feet and how his features showed the clear lack of proper rest “I don't want to go with you. I won't.” He insisted.

“Being stubborn won't help anyone, especially not Phil,” Phil felt his skin crawl when his name was mentioned, as if reality was trying to soak in through the thick blanket that was a buzz of late night cars passing and the way that every step on the pavement created a lot more noise when the raindrops had soaked the dark cement steadily. The sound of his own breath, a little caught after the frantic search and thickened from the cold of the air that he had drawn in one too many times. 

“I'm not just being stubborn, I don't want to have my every step watched,” Dan was arguing back and another, different feeling was coated on top of the that rainy darkness. Soft lights, but definitely not soft words, his own feelings not as well contained as they usually were, his good mood exhausted for one rare moment. 

Phil wanted to move, to interject the conversation with something to calm the two other men down, as the air was beginning to fill more with the heated emotions, but he couldn't move. Fear had found a way, and it paralysed his exhausted limbs, pumped more blood through his heart to a point that it almost hurt, and his chest felt so heavy, so, so heavy.

He sucked in a breath, quietly but urgently.

“I'm not watching--” 

“I had my every smallest move watched for months, and I can't, I just can't handle it anymore, okay?!” 

“Dan--”

“Fine, I will go and rest, but at least let me go to our apartment. I don't need you dotting after me all the time! Where are the keys?!”

“Oh for bloody hell's sake, Daniel, you don't have an apartment anymore!!”

Silence fell and it was like a vacuum that sucked Phil's being in without a mercy. The oxygen was there but never quite reachable enough that he could breathe normally. He couldn't find it in himself to move, and it was even worse than the feeling of being asleep when he didn't feel like it but couldn't help but to do so. 

He was still but he was falling and he sucked in desperate breaths, eyes unseeingly staring at a point beyond his bed but it was the memories that were playing in front of him instead of the reality. 

He was going to die. He was going to bleed out alone and there was nothing that he could do about it. The only one who could summon help was the same one that was now standing over him, chuckling under his breath and lighting up a cigarette calmly. 

“Sad excuse of a scum,” The voice spoke and the world closed in on Phil, mercilessly and painfully. He was gasping, but he could do nothing to save himself.

He was alone.

He was so, so alone.

It was too soon to go. He hadn't yet done so many things that he had planned. 

And Dan, he could hear Dan's voice as if it was right next to him and the tears were spilling from his tear ducts without an end to it. 

“Phil? Phil are you okay?” The frantic in the voice was apparent, but he could not understand if it was his own mind conjuring the care for his last moments in the voice of a beloved or was it real. He still could not grasp the line where the dreams stopped and where the reality began and it was confusing, painful and he couldn't help when he could barely breathe, he could not properly see, he could not think and he barely felt the world around him. 

“Shh, Phil, come on,” His body was pulled and he felt like the whole reality was being shifted and he felt the tears on his cheeks carving canyons in his skin. 

The cold of the hard ground and the rain was exchanged by the soft warmth and breath against his hair. The chuckling and the falling ash from the cigarette were slowly blurring, ceasing to exist. The pain in his chest was there, but it dulled slowly, though his breaths were still uneven and he couldn't find it in himself to move.

He felt stuck in time as it was melting away and he felt so small, so helpless. The world was collapsing but something was holding him in place and subconsciously he understood what though his conscious mind was struggling to keep up. 

Suddenly the reality began to sink in and he drew in a breath, choking on the sudden influx of oxygen and he hiccupped, his chest constricting in the process. His head was buzzing, too light. 

Arms held him, and the initial fear was subsiding though the imagery was still trying to return. Phil squeezed his eyes shut, finally finding it in himself to take charge of the situation more. He squirmed, trying to shake the feeling off.

“There you go, Phil, everything's fine,” He heard Dan's voice, felt the pronounced words as breaths against his scalp, felt the way his body had folded against Dan's and how his fingers hand clenched the covers at some unconscious moment. 

The words fell from his lips without a thought and finally he moved, leaning into Dan's form more “I want to be back home,” His hands found the material of Dan's hoodie and curled into it as if to explain it best. 

What he never saw was the exchanged look between Dan and Martyn.


	16. Ophidia in herba

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Self-harm.

“When your lease was coming to an end and Cornelia's friend couldn't figure out a way to get you released without Phil's testimony, we had to make the decision. Though your channels were still earning you money, and with all the income from the tours, it felt like it would be a waste of money to keep paying the rent since you'd need the funds once things would settle,” Martyn, fingertips pressed together beneath his chin, explained, seated in the chair while Dan cradled Phil's sleeping form close on the narrow bed. “And the landlord wasn't very keen on the idea of extending the lease either, after the police had nearly knocked down two doors in one night and then roaming around so much and disturbing the peace of the other tenants repeatedly.”

“Why not ask me? Or at least tell me about it?” Dan asked quietly, his thumb rubbing slow circles on Phil's arm, his eyes avoiding to look at Martyn, finding it easier to merely hear the information, instead of seeing the lips pronounce it.

“I think you know why, Dan,” Martyn answered, just as quietly and the silence set between the two men, heavy but not hostile. It was full of thoughts and unspoken questions and answers that both of them knew well already.

Finally, Dan sighed, staring at his knee, oddly balanced a little over Phil's legs that had tangled into the blanket “And all of our stuff?” Though he wasn't happy with the news, far from it (He'd never quite expected to find himself homeless like this, not after everything had been going uphill with their careers the previous year), it was a welcome distraction to try and sort out now. Something to focus on and what would allow him to feel like he was actually working towards fixing this mess.

It was enough that he had a purpose again, and with Phil close to his heart and so fragile, he had suddenly found a renowned strength to keep himself together. Physically though, his body was struggling - his heartbeat was uneven and the neck was aching from the poorly slept nights and the horrors that his mind had been conjuring so easily. The flashes of fright came in waves when something seemed even remotely hostile, remotely similar to what had happened in those long months though he had thought it to having become a welcome part of his life.

“We've stored most of it at a rental storage,” Dan nodded, and smiled a little, only a serene feeling in the little bow of lips. 

Here they had been musing out loud about a bigger storage space, about the possibility of moving. Now life had forced them to take the step, and Dan was sure that all the places that they had been looking at before were long gone and out of their reach now.

He sighed and raised his eyes enough to look at Phil who's sleeping face was smushed into the the wrinkly hoodie that Dan hadn't really changed ever since he'd gotten it after his mum had coaxed him into taking a shower and changing few days after his release. 

“Also - this,” Dan looked over when he heard Martyn shift and suddenly he saw his phone, handed back to him. Though he'd longed for this easy connection for months, Dan had completely forgotten of it in the delirious state post-trial. 

“Thanks,” He took the rectangular object and watched as the screen lit up with the familiar screensaver and the digits of time, and the date. 

“But Dan,” Martyn drew his attention in again and Dan simply pocketed the phone without unlocking it “Don't let the things you see get to you. The past months, especially after the news release, a lot of people have had a lot of opinions, and they have been very keen on expressing them.”

Teeth dug into the chapped lower lip and Dan nodded. At an idle moment he'd thought of what had come of their audience, friends, and colleagues. Now that he had a power to find out though, he understood how much he didn't want to know. 

He was afraid of the what he would find.

Dan understood though, he couldn't stay quiet forever. Now more than ever he was aware of how the world worked and he knew that the news of his release had probably travelled the globe in the places where they mattered in one way or another. 

“And a few people have been trying to reach you, but you'll see that in the call logs and messages,” To that, Dan just hummed a nod, wrapping his arms around Phil again.

“So where do we go now?” After a silent moment in which he could only hear the hospital chatter behind the closed door, Dan asked.

“We've been looking into it already and there are a few options. For now however, you need to rest, Dan. I'm not trying to nanny you,” Martyn added when Dan opened his mouth to protest “But you will exhaust yourself and right now we desperately need to get you back on your feet to settle everything that's been piling up.” 

Martyn looked down at Phil and Dan followed suit after noticing the slight crease in Martyn's forehead. It seemed like life liked to draw lasting lines on everyone's faces these days.

“As much as Phil's used to be in charge of half of the paperwork, he's in no condition right now to handle any. He was pushing himself so much to ensure that the trial goes through as soon as possible.” As if noticing the guilt begin to bud in Dan again, Martyn interjected quickly “He wouldn't have gotten any rest until you would walk free, so this is for the best.”

Dan pressed his lips together at that, trying to accept the words as the truth. 

“He needs to focus on getting well now, so we can't push any work on him. On the contrary, we need to keep him away from it.”

Dan nodded again, heaving another sigh, and the tiredness was evident in the heat of his breath and the way his heart felt weird in his chest, pumping with a struggling feeling of far too many hours spent awake and poorly rested. 

======

Leaving Phil behind felt like a mistake. As soon as Dan had exited the hospital, everything about him was screeching to go back, to take that seat again and be prepared to hold Phil once more if necessary. To be by his side and do what he hadn't been doing for such a long time.

The cab never paused though, and before Dan knew he was well on his way to Martyn's apartment. 

As the world zoomed by, it looked too peaceful and unchanged. Only the seasons had rolled over from spring to summer and all the way to autumn, the leaves on the trees yellowing already. It was a familiar sense of meaninglessness that he'd successfully branded as an existential crisis over the years. Only now, he actually saw it, and understood on a level that he had never before. 

Life had moved on, with or without Dan and Phil and all of their achievements. All of their work seemed to have been for naught. 

It made him wonder, like many nights before in his years; did he really matter on any scale? Was the work that he did anything important? Was the grand scheme of things for him to merely exist as a piece of grain in the infinite and endless vortex of the universe?

“Try to sleep, okay?” Cornelia was unchangingly gentle, like she'd always be whenever something wasn't quite right. And things had really gone to shit.

It was a softness Dan appreciated; it was safe, emphatic. It almost made things feel alright.

He couldn't sleep.

Though his body was exhausted, his mind was a raging storm and he kept tossing and turning hours after he had been left alone, huddled with the blanket and a phone on the bed besides his pillow. In the darkness of the room he felt uneasy, and the warmth of a home was something that he was still taking time to get familiar with in his gut. 

He was free and he could do as he pleased again, and it was something that he couldn't fully grasp just yet.

Because this freedom came with responsibilities that had previously been forcefully removed from him, too.

His phone screen lit up expectantly when he pressed down on the home button and for a while he stared at the nondescript background until the light went out again and he was left in the darkness with his eyes stinging.

“Take your time,” Martyn's voice rang in his memory “There's no coordinated update to do, no timing, just let them know when you feel like it's time to do so and when you think you can handle the response.”

He clicked the home button again, but this time he didn't let the light to turn off and instead he finally tapped the screen, unlocking it. The familiar smooth movement of apps appearing and the more personal background was in front of him, and he stared for a while, remembering of the last time he'd used the device and how the random games and little notifications were scattered across the screen in the same manner still. 

Like nothing had changed. 

Like whether or not he and Phil existed didn't matter. He knew it was dumb to think about a phone not caring, but it was one of the many reminders of how the universe was so huge, so uncaring.

He kept scrolling, slowly, through the screens of apps, eyes trailing over the bright colours and lingering on the twitter blue and the messages in the corner. His heart was beating too loudly in the silence of the room, and he paused, uncertain, finger hovering over the twitter icon for a brief moment of hesitation before he finally tapped on it.

It was strange, the feeling, when the world opened up to him through 140 character posts, icons, and weird usernames. Dan stared at the first few - an update of some news twitter he had followed back in the day and the one from BBC. His chest tightened, and the words blurred in front of his vision with the realisation setting in. That his freedom was there, that he had the access to all the same things again and had the influence as one of the crowd once more.

When the screen went black again, he dropped the phone on the bed and curled up in the blanket, bunching it close to his chest in the manner he was used to, wrapping a corner around his head. His eyes were shut tightly, his breaths were short, hot, but he tried to hold on to the peace and curiosity from before.

But he wasn't the same Dan from before, and he wasn't sure if he was capable of going back to that life again. It seemed like such a different life, one he was never allowed to return to. Where he and Phil would just lounge on the sofa, either silently, or sharing a joke, sometimes even planning new videos. Where life seemed almost careless though it still could be stressful and dark at times.

The lack of oxygen was suffocating, but also relieving, and he curled up more, his back cold where the blanket wasn't enough and had rode up, but he couldn't find it in himself to change that, and he let the light shiver ran down his back. Instead he curled in on himself, and allowed the mixture of tiredness and no air to slowly take over him. 

His heartbeat was slowing down. His thoughts were becoming fuzzier. His limbs finally released the tension just enough.

Reality was exchanged with nightmarish sleep.

Everything was warping in a way that made him sick, and the air was full of hostile noise. The images weren't clear in front of him, but he drew some peace in that distortion, though they made his stomach turn uncomfortably. 

His skin was hot, uncomfortable, and he felt like getting it off. Nails dug into the flesh, and he pulled, pulled, but the feeling wouldn't go away. Water poured down his face, and it took a while to understand that it was his own sweat, his body evaporating slowly but steadily.

His joints were aching, with the low, dragging feeling that would easily allow him to move still but which inevitably was draining the body ten times quicker. 

Something cold startled him awake. 

The rough texture of a wet towel was pressed against his forehead, wiping away the heat and the sweat. It replaced them with the cool water droplets that tried to pool around his eyes only to trickle down the sides of his face, unnoticed. 

He opened his eyes but the world was spinning, so he shut them instantly, groaning weakly when the world would continue to warp, even quicker now. 

He squirmed, and tried to turn, but his muscles screeched and he remained still though it made him feel absolutely uncomfortable. It was evident that someone was there, the coolness of the towel disappearing for a brief moment before it returned with a renowned coolness.

Slowly, slowly, the things seemed to become better. He would squirm, willing his limbs to start tossing around again, and then - relax. The coolness would leave only to arrive back repeatedly until it never did. There were moments that were warping and others where everything was too still. He found that he didn't feel like pulling off his skin anymore, but his body stung oddly. 

It felt like a short moment had passed, but something in his limbs screamed much longer.

Dark eyes opened to the world again, and he stared for a while, breathing slowly, but the heat had disappeared for once. How much time had passed of him just staring up at the darkening ceiling without a single coherent thought inside his skull, Dan had no idea, but slowly the whirlpool subsided and he became aware of his surroundings. 

His body felt spent and his arms, his chest, everything - hurt. His back felt too stiff against the covers and his face felt steamed. 

Fingers twitched and the feeling coursed through the entirety of his being. He moved his toes, stretched his neck a little, a few pops ringing inside his skull when his spine cracked. 

Slowly, he pushed himself to sit up, knees bent and head leaned forward so he could touch his face, but he stopped when he noticed the white bandages around his arms. They were wrapped with an extreme care; not too firm but not too loose, as if someone had been afraid to hurt him. His eyes trailed over the cover until he noted a long, red scratch mark, wide like his own fingernails but not deep enough to break the skin, stretching out from beneath the bandage, the irritated skin crawling up his arm and disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt, where other similar lines were sneaking from below.

And it was annoying. 

He felt the temptation to pull the bandages off, because the cotton wrap felt suffocating, trapping, dehydrating. 

It made him think back to the last visit to the prison's hospital. 

It made him feel deformed.

The stinging increased when he touched fingers against the white cotton wrap and the feeling extended to his eyes, to his head and beyond to his heart once more. It made the fatigue spike again and his muscles were slow to comply.

He lied down, the covers against his skin not comfortable, and closed his eyes again. His arms settled on his stomach, hugging his body weakly once more like they had for days. 

And there was a peace in his core where nothing mattered anymore.


	17. Omne initium difficile est

“Don't tell him anything about this,” Dan had said what felt like a hundred times whenever the conversation had turned even remotely towards the marks on his body. He hated when it was brought up. 

The red and angry lines where Dan's nails had been obsessively rubbed against the skin had faded a little, but he could still see them constantly. Even when the long sleeves of the sweater were covering his arms and his chest, he could feel them still. Far too many times he would find himself tensing up when thinking of how to move on with life. His fingers would then bunch the sleeves tighter to hold him from adding to the angry collection on his skin.

The initial sting had faded but he found himself touching the places absentmindedly even when he was at relative peace. 

“Come here,” Though there was a part of him that felt the need to run and cover in shame, Dan held his arms out for Phil when the older man would push himself up to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“I want to do this myself,” Phil objected though there was less of annoyance and more of a confident smile on the pale features. Dan still remained close by, watching as Phil took one step after the other until he could fully stand up straight. 

It was still a painful view, the frailness still evident in the way Phil's frame was shaky, his arms soon hanging by his sides as if he was too tired to bring them up, all the energy focused on keeping him upright. Every time that Phil would wobble on his feet, Dan's nails would dig into the palms to keep himself from reaching out, prepared to catch Phil. 

Phil didn't want constant help. Dan had seen the way Phil's face would become a forced mask of a smile every time a nurse would stop by and would try to be helpful, how the soft smile turned into a rigid line and how that warmth in the blue eyes turned to ice. 

They hadn't talked about the panic attacks either. 

“How are you feeling?” Dan blinked at the question, and it took a moment until he pieced the meaning together in his head and he offered a slight smile to Phil, whose whole frame was leaning towards him, but it was hard to tell if it was because of the tiredness or because Phil wanted to be closer. 

“I'm fine, it was just the stress,” He waved it off carelessly and instead inched closer to Phil, and once Phil leaned in a little, Dan wrapped an arm around his back. Fingers trailed the side lightly, affectionately, without a thought and Phil squirmed a little. 

“I'm still ticklish, you know,” Phil rolled his eyes when Dan gave him a questioning look. 

“Sorry,” Dan instinctively responded, though there was more logic in the apology than most that he'd deliriously murmured in the past weeks. And it was accompanied with a smile, though the corners of his mouth were still attempting to drag turn it into a frown.

“It's fine, Dan. You don't have apologise for everything,” Their conversations were short, less like them from before. Though a lot had been said with actions and looks, words had been a helpful addition. And their banter had become somewhat famous too; something that had been private at first, only to help them enjoy their content more and therefore seemed to get them a better response from their audience, too.

Now it was short sentences, brief, nondescript gestures and a lot of avoided gazes.

“Can I ask you something?” His words escaped before his mind could follow and a knot set in Dan's throat when the last syllable was pronounced.

“Of course you can, you know that!” The surprise was clear though lined with the raspiness still, and Dan looked down at his shoes as the two tall men slowly made their way from the hospital room towards the elevator, from where they were supposed to head towards the small cafeteria. 

“Why...” He began but the knot grew and suffocated the language in his throat. 

It was just the two of them, shuffling slowly down the corridor, that he could hear or feel, though there were a lot more people around, filling the air with a buzz of voices. It was a white noise for him though, and it rang in his ears in a numbing manner.

“Why… what?” Phil prompted, but there was a small waver in the question, as if he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what Dan had wanted to ask. It made the knot in his throat grow, and suddenly Dan gasped, trying to inhale, the two of them instantly stopping.

“Hey, hey,” Phil's voice was soft again, worried and Dan wanted to scream. Scream so loudly that his throat would go raw, and cry so long that he would collapse in dust. He wished for the anger, he wished for the equal pain, for a harsh acknowledgement of fault. 

Though he was still holding onto Phil, not abandoning the commitment of helping the other man, his fingers were trembling, the free hand soon finding the edge of the sweater and starting to pull at it, the fabric stretching along willingly. It made him angrier. When everything was complying to whatever he was doing as if it was fine. As if the only way to get the correct treatment would be through throwing himself in the harm's way or causing it himself. 

He jerked away, startled, when a hand found his jaw, partially resting against his neck lightly. His hold around Phil released and he stumbled a little as he moved back, eyes wide and momentarily clouded. 

“I'll do it myself--” His tone was high-pitched, frightened. He didn't need the help. He didn't need that humiliation. He wasn't worth much but he wasn't willing to give it all up either.

“Dan what are you..” Phil, leaning a little against the nearest wall, watched Dan, hand still raised where it had been left when Dan had pulled away hastily. 

“I...” Dan blinked, dumbfounded when the world zoned in around him again. A nurse, rushing, brushed past him, and the collision was another reminder and pull at the consciousness. 

“Shit, sorry, I didn't mean to,” Dan made the rush of three steps towards Phil to hoist the man closer again, a mixture of dread and comfort when the similarly tall frame leaned in on him once more. “Sorry, I just,” He began explaining only to come to a halt when he didn't know how to explain.

“Dan,” He tried to not let the sensation come back, staring stubbornly at the ground though they weren't moving. “You didn't just get in a fight…. While you were there, did you?” There was a darkness lining that low question, and it was hard to tell if it was the same hitch or one of a different nature in Phil's words that affected the usually freely-spoken Northerner. 

Dan just scrunched his face a little, pressed his lips tightly together and although he knew that he wouldn't be able to keep it hidden forever, he couldn't force the words out. He couldn't even make himself nod to acknowledge the question. He just stood there, glaring holes into the linoleum with all the emotions that weren't making any sense for what felt like forever. He longed for that numbness, the lack of caring, because then he could at least speak of things without reliving them. 

“We should move,” Finally he spoke, ignoring Phil's stare, and the two began to move again, but the previously somewhat joyful air had vanished. Dan chewed at the inside of the lip, trying to contain the storm hidden within, clearing it away from his face in that manner than he'd mastered in the long months passed. Where he was a viewer of his life in third person, and had hated the detachment, now only to long for it. 

The elevator arrived with a soft ding and the two shuffled inside it, the mirror on the back wall a reminder of who he'd become. As he stared though, he noted the way Phil's face had darkened upon the view as well, though his eyes were surveying his own reflection before he pulled his gaze away with a poorly muffled huff, turning towards the floor buttons. The door closed on them but the elevator didn't move anywhere, the buttons left untouched. 

“I'm sorry, okay?” The words were spoken calmly, quietly, but heaviness hung in every syllable and Dan blinked at Phil's reflection in the mirror as the older man pressed his forehead against the metallic wall, his eyes shielded by the fringe that had grown out considerably, now hanging over Phil's face in a messy mop. “I'm trying to get better quickly, and you need me now, but all of you are pitying me, keeping things away and not letting me help just because... I can't make my own way to the bathroom and back without feeling like I might collapse,” The breath that followed was a long inhale, followed with a slight tremble in the exhale.

“Phil, that's not--” Dan, finally turning to look at Phil, whose back was turned to him, began, only for Phil to push away from the wall and towards Dan surprisingly fast, the eyes carrying unspilled tears and that single emotion that Dan had been looking for so long, but now that it was there, he understood that it was differently aimed. The anger was fed-up and ashamed mixture of emotions, barely spilling outwards. 

“Phil--” Dan inched back as the slightly wobbling frame of his boyfriend inched closer, the blue eyes captivating in a manner that made Dan almost afraid, and it was not an emotion he was used to feeling around Phil. He inched back until his back was pressed against the cool wall, the railing uncomfortably pushing against his lower back but he didn't dare to step away from it. 

“Do you really think I haven't noticed?” There was hurt in the words and it made Dan shiver.

“What do you mean?” He managed, the voice barely above a whisper, hitching when long fingers wrapped around his wrist in a strong, but still gentle hold. It felt like his heart would burst or suddenly come to a halt, with how quickly it was beating and automatically, Dan reached out to wrap his own fingers around Phil's hand holding his wrist.

The sound was pleading when the words finally found their way from the depths of his lungs.

“Please don't...”

The frown on Phil's face deepened.

“You never hide just like that, you never have,” The voice was low but finally Phil let go, Dan following suit only to tug at his sleeves more. 

“I can't stand this,” The confession spilled from his lungs just as pleading as before.

“Then let me help,” Phil insisted and Dan wrapped his hands around himself again, his private space so full of Phil's presence that it was becoming unusually overwhelming. He always welcomed Phil there, but then again they had always been sorting their issues differently and this was something new. 

“I can't,” Finally Dan brought up his hand, pressing it against Phil's chest lightly, almost as if to push the other man away but instead his fingers bunched the front of Phil's shirt, unsure of how to proceed. “I can't put you in the line of fire again.”

“Don't I have any say in this?” Dan could feel Phil's breath on his face and he looked down, where his fingers were curled into the front of the shirt. He'd seen the scar when the nurses had come in for checkups, seen the medical plasters that had covered it just a little while after the surgery. He'd never really touched it though, in fear that it would hurt Phil, and in fear that his touch would put a curse on Phil's recovery. 

Now, as his fingertips were lightly pressed against the chest, he could imagine the jagged line, he could almost feel the uneven patch of skin through the thin cotton. It was also the closest that he'd come to feeling that heartbeat again; strong and steady the rhythm was only sped up by the emotions as it beat against the inside of the ribcage. 

It was as if it had never stopped before. As if it hadn't been put to risk of the beats being numbered much sooner than it had been originally made for.

“No,” He finally whispered, not daring to look up, the heat of Phil's breath closing in more “You don't.”

The silence was deafening and suddenly the elevator became claustrophobic. Dan could only wonder how they hadn't yet been interrupted, knowing the bustle of the place.

He drew in a breath, as steady as he could, and tasted Phil's breath on his mouth. Dark eyes met the watery blues hidden behind the thick frames that were welling with more tears, a silent flood tide. After all, Phil had been the more closed up between them though he'd almost always been an open book for Dan.

“Not until you let me help you, too,” Phil gasped at that, and Dan tugged at the shirt, Phil's whole frame complying in an instant, almost collapsing against Dan's. The rail pushed into Dan's back more, but he paid it no mind, hands finding their way around the other man as he felt himself being enveloped in a rather clumsy, but ever so needy hug. It was a genuine feeling, an open-hearted comfort where compromises were born, even with the most challenging difficulties standing in their way. It was something that had been lost, shelved, for months, now dusted off and lovingly accepted into their lives again. 

It was a step towards the future that Dan had such difficulty imagining on his own.

When the elevator door opened finally, three floors below, the two shuffled out the same way they had gotten into the elevator, but their postures had changed completely. Their hold on each other was fonder, tall frames leaning on one another like perfectly fitting puzzle pieces. Their eyes were not dry, but there was something a little more relaxed in the tired expressions.

To anyone who would have paid attention, there was also the presence of longer and softer eye contacts over the cups of tea and coffee when they sat at the small cafeteria table.


	18. Onus probandi

His fingers were trembling as he held on to his phone, the tweet that he was about to send out having been polished in his mind ten times over. He'd not dared to look at all the direct messages that had been sent to him nor at any of the responses from mere days to months ago that were filling up his notifications. 

In all honesty, Dan was terrified of what he would find there. He was afraid of the response his reappearance would cause and he felt the flight or fight response in his being, unsure which action to take. 

Even with all that, he had agreed with Phil that it was time. And that Dan should be the one to tweet first, even if only by mere seconds.

“Remember to breathe, Dan,” Phil's voice was a low murmur close to his ear, his head leaned on Dan's shoulder as the two men had found a way to fit on the hospital bed while the nurses weren't there to shoo Dan away. 

He just swallowed in response, trying to mend the dryness of his throat only to wince at the sticky feeling and the pinch of pain that the action caused. He wanted to drink some water to mend it but knew far too well that it wouldn't really quench the feeling. 

“Okay,” His lips formed soundlessly, but Phil shifted just a little, and somehow Dan knew that Phil had heard him. 

He tapped the icon of the application and instantly navigated to the new tweet button, ignoring any new tweets and highlights on the screen. Phil followed suit, watching the twitter blue for a moment before both of them began to type, the soft taps ringing much louder in Dan's ears than they actually were. 

_“A lot has happened in the last few months and I imagine that you have a lot of questions. We're just asking for patience and time”_

The tweet was obsolete of his usual Twitter spelling aesthetic, and Dan hoped that it would be an indication of sincerity rather than him being dismissive of their audience and friends. 

Meanwhile Phil had sat up properly, looking down at Dan's phone, his own rested against his thigh, with a tweet of his own in the little box, already composed and ready for sending.

_”The media can be misleading and unjust. We're both well. Thank you for keeping us in your thoughts during our absence”_

It all felt too official, too unclear and almost cold towards their audience. But it was what they had agreed was for the best. 

“It's up,” Dan croaked out as his fingers, after fumbling a little, finally hit the button, and watched Phil tap the Tweet button as well, sending his message out along with Dan's. As agreed, they soon retweeted each other's tweets and Dan set his phone aside, sound and vibration, as well as Twitter notifications completely muted while Phil remained with his silenced but still open to responses. 

“It's done,” Phil spoke and Dan looked down to where Phil's hand laid, slowly reaching out to entwine their fingers, holding onto it tightly enough to keep himself from shivering. 

“It will be okay,” He murmured and looked up. Though Phil was regarding him with a smile, Dan saw the worry behind those pleasant blues, how Phil's skin seemed not nearly as soft as it did when he was relaxed, how the dark fringe, the lighter roots showing more than Dan had experienced in years, was extremely messy and how Phil didn't seem to take a moment to brush it out of his eyes.

“Can I?” Dan asked, but his free hand was already reaching out, sorting the dark strands of hair out and pushing them aside, fingertips trembling against the frame of Phil's glasses lightly only to cause Phil to scrunch his nose a little, the smile softening soon after. It was a calming action, and for a moment Dan felt all the pieces falling back in their places. He was almost happy, almost careless, almost sure enough to--

“Your phone,” Phil suddenly looked away and pointed at Dan's phone, the screen lighting up though all the notifications had been turned off. Puzzled, he picked it up, noting the unknown caller ID and as quickly as the peace had settled in his bones earlier, it crumbled. 

Slowly Dan released Phil's hand and slipped off of the bed, staring at the phone in his hand as it continued to mutely ring. He felt Phil's eyes on him, how the questions hung in the air unsaid: Who was calling? Why? Would Dan answer? Why was it that a mere phone call could make them both so tense when it could be just a telemarketer or something of a similar nature?

Why did both of them know that this wasn't just any call?

“Yes?” His voice was small when he answered the phone, pressing the flat device by his ear and it felt weird after the months of dialing from a landline at the prison. His heart was racing racing again and at another time he would have laughed that it was most cardio that he has hd in year. Instead his nails were anxiously digging into the skin of his upper arm that held the phone, when he clung to the receiver with the other. 

Bare seconds passed like slow minutes and he nearly dropped the phone when the voice on the other side finally spoke.

“Is this Daniel Howell? I'm calling in connection with the reopened case against Stanley Witherley.” Though Dan hadn't answered, the person on the other end kept talking in a tone that was too void of humanly regard to how the words would affect Dan “You were one of the two witnesses in the misconduct caused at the state prison, and we have been informed that you have been listed as the only one with the mental preparedness for a full testimony of the events.”

The words had completely dried up in his throat and Dan stood by the wall where he'd stopped, head almost leaning against it as the world around him had become so numb and unclear. 

“Dan?” He heard Phil trying to speak and he sucked in a hurried breath, shoulders hunching and nails digging painfully into the skin through the rough sweater fabric. The tremor was present in every breath, and he wanted to curl up as the memory of a hot breath against his scalp and offending, wandering hands were on his body. A ghost he could not shake no matter how hard he tried to. 

“Y-yes,” He finally managed out the word, unsure whether it was the answer to anything that the policeman had said or to Phil. 

It was enough for the policeman though and he continued on.

“We can arrange a hearing at the station, and the sooner this is done, the sooner we can come to a legal agreement about his case.”

“When?” His words were barely making any sound as he pressed the phone against his face more and the sting of the nails digging in his skin was becoming unbearable and some moisture found its way to his eyes, but he didn't stop. His muscles tensed, his hand as if cramping to push through the fibers of the sweater and into the flesh. He breathed quietly, but each inhale was short, shallow, not enough oxygen causing his head to become lighter with every ticking second and he pressed his head and shoulder against the wall, as if trying to blend with the concrete. 

“We'll contact you with the details of the hearing next week,” It was as if the the man on the other end was a machine, fulfilling functions without considering consequences. 

With a final standard pleasantry, the line went dead, but Dan didn't lower the phone. Instead he kept leaning into the wall and as his fingers curled they began to pull across the skin with the texture of the sweater softening the feeling only a little bit. 

“Dan?” Phil, voice gentle, tried to reach out to Dan again, Phil's legs hanging over the edge of the bed, ready to walk across the room if necessary. 

Finally Dan's hand fell from near his ear, tearing it away from the attacking nails though some harm was already done, and it was left hanging by his side with the phone clasped so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. 

“You were right,” Dan muttered, but didn't move in fear that he would instantly stumble over and fall, and wouldn't be able to rise anymore. 

There was a slight uncertainty in Phil's steps as he neared Dan. It was like a question, but also as if an emotion where fright was too evident to hide behind the impression of any other expression known to man. 

“It wasn't just a fight,” By the end of his words, his voice had faltered. 

The two were left in the silence once Phil's hand found Dan's, peeling the phone out of the grasp and replacing it with a soft touch of his own hand. 

And the silence was screaming. 

======

“I feel well,” Phil assured the doctor as the cold stethoscope end was pressed against his chest and he was instructed to inhale and exhale several times. Dan just watched from the corner where he was allowed to stay eventually whenever there were checkups after Phil had insisted that he would rather have him there.

Dan couldn't tell sometimes though; was it because Phil felt better having Dan around or was it because he was afraid to let Dan out of his sight. Especially now.

After the initial call from the police, Dan had tried to explain the situation to Phil. The two had found themselves seated on the hospital room floor, and the way they were side-by-side was a strong reminisce of when Dan had decided to drop out of law. This time, however, it was a lot harder to speak, to say what he had experienced and how he viewed it, and himself, in the context. 

Words were a jumbled mess on his lips, drying out before he could begin explaining. His nails would soon dig into his skin again, until Phil had reached out to gently take both hands in his own, keeping his hold on them throughout the whole conversation. 

The most he could tell about were the occasional beatings and the origins of the bruises and scars. There were holes in his story, too obvious to even try and act like they weren't there, but he couldn't fill them in and Phil's expression was too horrified already. Dan could barely even think of pronouncing the whole sequence of events.

He was afraid of Phil thinking Dan dirty and undesirable, even if Dan had fought back. 

He was never humiliated entirely, but it was only by chance that he'd been saved from the lifelong mortification. Dan was already feeling filthy; he couldn't imagine if Stanley would have gotten what he wanted. If Rudy hadn't appeared and paid with his own comfort to save Dan's. 

If Dan's wellness of life hadn't been paid with that of another.

That night both of them had been restless.

“You are well on your way to go home soon, Mister Lester, we can see about the release paperwork by the end of this week,” The doctor, smiling a soft, tired smile put the stethoscope around his neck while Phil pulled down his shirt. 

“Thank you,” Phil nodded and Dan smiled at the middle-aged doctor as the man left the room. 

“Home, huh?” Dan pushed himself up, returning to the table where he had piled up the printed forms and advertisements that Martyn had given to Dan on the way from the last meeting with the Youtube representatives to ensure that all the accounts would remain monetised and none of the funds would be frozen. The lady had been sceptical, someone Dan hadn't met before, and it had made him tense. It was hard to justify himself when he didn't fully believe that he was innocent still. 

The paper printed applications for the apartments advertisements were a welcome change in the mood.

“These were the apartments that are open for immediate moving in,” Martyn had squeezed his shoulder lightly when they parted ways - Martyn returning to other work that he had to attend to and Dan - to the hospital. 

“I guess it's about time that we found a new one to call our own,” Phil regarded Dan with such a soft smile that Dan wanted to curl in on himself, but at the same time his crazed heart felt a soft pang that made it bearable, and that familiar lightness settled in the pit of his stomach, the one that he'd not experienced for far too long. 

“I guess.” 

Shoulder to shoulder, they spread the papers on the bed, the black and white pictures displaying the most various apartments and though they tried to keep the excitement high, there was unsaid sadness in the air. The apartments were smaller than their old one, they were definitely a lot smaller than the ones they had been looking forward to upgrading to. It was a downgrade and yet it was a step up from where they were now. 

It was a harsh reality and yet it was exciting. 

It was a lot of conflicting emotions.

“No to this, it's too far from the city centre,” Phil pushed the papers aside when Dan had nodded and had leaned forward to point at another apartment.

“I think we've walked enough stairs back in Manchester,” And there was a silence that was warm in the air and for a moment they were relaxed. Dan leaned a little closer, their arms touching.

“What about this one?” Phil pointed at an apartment and Dan only briefly looked at it before he had put his head on Phil's shoulder. Phil chuckled lightly, Dan's still fairly short hair tickling against the side of his neck. 

“On the off chance of sounding cheesy,” Dan murmured, glancing at the window where the familiar grey cover of London clouds was threatening the people with rain again. It was a dangerous thought but he felt the familiarity of the apartment hunting together take charge, for the softness to spill from his lips though consciously he was afraid he'd be suddenly met with a rejection “I don't even care where we live as long as we're together.”

There was another, fuller, softer chuckle that rang besides him and he felt Phil's head leaning against his own, and his worries as if evaporated, only a lining of darkness remaining present still “My, Dan, thought you knew by now that I don't like cheese,” And despite the words they both knew that it wasn't Phil dismissing the sentiment.

“I'll call them tomorrow about the apartment,” Dan eyed the paper that Phil had last pointed at. A two bedroom apartment with a kitchenette, large bathroom and some storage space that despite the downgrading felt homey. 

Perhaps it was the reminisce of the Manchester apartment. 

And Dan tried really hard to not let the tainted nightmare versions of the memories overshadow the reality. 

It was a new start and a chance to make things right.


	19. Hinc illae lacrimae

The air was full of damp cold as the September had bled into October, already nearing the end of the month. The stores were decorated for Halloween, the pumpkin orange, white of ghosts and purple and green of witches and monsters all around. Themed advertisements, candy and decorations were everywhere one would look and if these decorations weren't there, it was the use of colourful leaves that other stores liked to draw people's attention to their sales with.

Blue eyes trailed over the many store windows and the people crowding on the sidewalks, rushing on their daily business while covering beneath their umbrellas. He had always enjoyed Halloween and dressing up, as well as the themed snacks and the fact that he had a reason to watch more horror movies than usually. 

There was only a faint reminiscence of that usual excitement burning in his chest as he watched the world. Phil put it down to being tired. Though he had only a little amount of his stuff, he'd spent too long in the same hospital room for the leave to be a smooth two minute packing. It had taken a good two hours until they had been sure that he hadn't left anything behind, and though the nurse assured that he could return for anything that he might have forgotten later, he wanted to avoid returning too soon. 

The cab suddenly began to move again and Phil was struck by a feeling of vertigo. He released a soundless gasp before his whole body leaned onto Dan's, seeking comfort and stability in that embrace that soon enveloped him. 

“Are you alright?” He heard Dan's voice lined with soft concern but he just nuzzled closer, eyes closed.

“Mm, a little motion sick,” Because he hadn't been in a car for so long again, and even then his last trips to the courthouse had been a fuzzy mess, his head unable to focus enough to even conjure this feeling.

To that, he felt Dan shift, allowing Phil to lean onto him more comfortably and he hummed a small thank you, trying to stop the warping that was still going on even behind the closed lids, though not as strong. His hand laid down on Dan's thigh, fingers curling a little without his own notice, the nails pulling at the tight jean material lightly before it fell back in place. 

He came to it next when he felt a light shake of his shoulder, and Dan's voice close to his ear “Phil, we're here,” He opened his eyes, blinking a couple of times until his vision cleared enough for him to realise that Dan was holding out his glasses towards him. Thankful, he took them and perched them on his nose before the two tall men climbed out of the cab. Phil's fingers dug into the metal frame of the door as he kept himself upright for a moment before he allowed the door to fall shut behind him. 

“Phil, Dan, over here,” A familiar voice called out and Phil regarded Cornelia with a smile as she waved the two men over, motioning at the open front door that she was still propping open with her foot. 

It was a welcome feeling to know that they had a coded main entrance, Phil found himself thinking.

“Hey,” Phil greeted her, stepping into the stairway after Cornelia, feeling Dan follow closely behind as the door fell shut and locked itself. 

“We've brought all the essentials from the storage and then Martyn will be back in a couple of minutes with the other stuff,” She explained, leading them up the stairs before they finally stopped by the apartment door. 

“Welcome home, boys,” She announced softly and Phil's eyes met with Dan's when the two silently exchanged a look, both of their mouths half-hearted smiles because they knew - it was better than what could have been, but it was not yet truly their home. 

Phil reached out, gently grabbing onto Dan's hand, searching for that bit of familiarity that would still remain in their household. He felt the light squeeze, encouragement and then he stepped forward, opening the door.

It was a new chapter that they were walking into and all of them knew it.

======

His hands were too sweaty. It was because of that, that the box was slipping from his grasp, but he stubbornly kept propping it up in his hands as he took it into his room which was a slight reminiscence of the room he'd had in Manchester. It was a little bigger, just enough to comfortably fit a bigger bed, the shelf, the closet and the low wardrobe, but it was clearly a lot less than he'd gotten so used to having. 

He knew Dan felt the same, had seen it behind those dark eyes when they had been pushing around the furniture. Neither said anything about it though. 

They were adamant on making this a home. If only for now. 

The box slipped out of his hands when he was trying to push it onto the drawer and it fell with a muffled thud, the lid falling open and spilling onto the ground by his feet. It was just clothes, so even though it had fallen on his foot, it didn't hurt nearly as much as if it had been his books. 

Even if it had hurt though, he wouldn't probably have reacted. 

He stared down at the pile of fabric of the most various colours, but his eyes were drawn to the Oscar's hotel t-shirt. 

It was /that/ same colour. He'd never been too great at naming them correctly, but suddenly he knew the exact one. It made his vision blurry, his limbs felt frozen. His heart was too fast, too heavy, and he felt the twitch somewhere near the bridge of his nose where panic was pushing the tears. 

Phil didn't even realise how long had he been standing there, the silent wet tracks painting his cheeks. It was only when he suddenly zoned in on his name being called out several times, that he suddenly snapped out of it. A bit in daze, he brought up his hand and while pushing his glasses aside clumsily, wiped at his face. Quickly, he grabbed the offending shirt and tossed it under the bed.

Out of sight, out of mind, he tried to tell himself as he did so, kneeling to start picking up the spilled clothing.

He'd apologise to PJ one day, if necessary.

“Phil?” Dan's head popped in through the door. Phil could feel the gaze on him but he didn't dare to look over. Instead, in his calmest voice, which was surprisingly easy to achieve, he answered to the other man while folding the pieces of clothing automatically.

“Sorry, I knocked it over, did you need anything?” 

There was a momentary hesitation in the air and for a moment Phil began to wonder if Dan could see right through him. If he did though, he never mentioned it.

“Cornelia is ordering some food, we haven't had anything since breakfast,” Phil could almost hear Dan's fidgeting, but his body refused to follow his mind that would will him to stand up and go over to Dan. He kept piling the neatly folded pieces of clothing, a lot neater than he usually would, his back still turned to Dan and there was silence between the two before he could hear Dan's shuffling announcing that the younger man had left. At that, Phil allowed himself to fall backwards, until he felt the side of the bed press against his back and he leaned his head back momentarily. Wrists on his knees, he sat there, his mind swarming as the fright and logic were fighting.

And he was so tired again. His limbs didn't have enough strength to push himself up anymore and eventually his eyes drooped enough that his lids didn't open again.

Why was he so tired still?

A touch on his shoulder drew him out of the light slumber and he jumped, at first disorientated with the nightmarish memories having taken over the brief slumber. He didn't even realise that he had been holding his breath until his eyes finally focused on Dan and he drew in a relieved gasp. 

“You scared me,” Phil muttered, offering Dan a smile though it wasn't the reality that had truly scared him.

“Sleeping on the floor isn't a good idea,” He could see the slight quiver in Dan's expression but couldn't find it in himself to react. Instead he allowed Dan to pull him up, their hands linked even after they both stood at their full heights. What he soon noted was that Dan's hands were unusually sweaty, and he looked down at them before he looked back up.

Something was bothering Dan, he could tell, and it wasn't just the moisture on his palm but also the way Dan's dark eyes would shift to and fro Phil's face to look around, as if paranoid.

“What's wrong?” His mouth finally followed what his mind had willed and he tugged Dan a little closer absentmindedly, but they remained stood with only their hands touching.

Dan's lips quivered and a muscle in his cheek twitched when he tried to smile and Phil noted the way his eyes were now completely avoiding to look into Phil's. “C-Can...” Dan began but stopped, breathing in a steadying breath before looking up, eyes focused somewhere between Phil's, making him feel like he should go cross-eyed if he wanted to meet them “Can you come with me tomorrow?”

“For the testimony?” They had talked about it once Dan had gotten the second call. He'd offered to tag along but Dan had said no.

Now he was asking Phil to come along and he wasn't going to say no, but….

“Any reason for the change of heart?” He spoke softly and he could see that Dan saw that it was Phil's silent 'yes' to Dan's request.

“There's more to it and maybe I can...” 

And Phil understood. It plagued him since he'd first seen Dan in the courthouse - all beaten and stitched up, stripped from the confidence that had been building slowly over the years and so many things of what made him who he was - chipped. 

“What time?” He merely asked and was met with a wry smile.

======

His eyes snapped wide open, and his lips made way for a loud gasp as he shot up, sitting on the bed with his face in his hands.

“It's just a nightmare,” He muttered to himself, frantic at first, slowly calming with every word said as he repeated it several more times until he could make himself believe his words. 

His shirt was sweat-drenched, sticking to his chest uncomfortably. With a groan, Phil pushed himself out of the bed, untangling his feet from the sheets as he checked the time. 

4am.

Quietly he slipped out of his room into the small hallway that lead straight to the kitchenette, stripping his shirt on the way only to drop it on the floor when he entered the bathroom and flicked the light on. 

The look in the mirror was unhealthy. He was still too thin. He was still too pale, even for himself. The dark circles around his eyes made the blue of his irises seem paler than ever before in his life. 

Avoiding to look at the scarring on his chest, he turned on the tap, scooping some water in his hands before he splashed it into his face. 

One splash. 

Another. 

He felt his hair, too long, sticking to his face, but he just kept splashing the freezing water on his face until his cheeks and fingertips were becoming numb.

“Just a nightmare,” He said again, but when he looked up, his eyes instantly locked onto his chest. It wasn't bad, but it was there, the scar, and it made him realise it more harshly than ever.

It hadn't been just a nightmare. 

It was a memory. 

A shiver ran down his back, and he gingerly stripped off his pajama pants and socks, starting the shower. The hot steam rose and he breathed it in, allowing the heat to lap at his cold and sweaty skin, and run through his hair until he was completely soaked. 

When he crawled back into the bed again, dressed in a fresh pair of pajamas, he didn't settle for sleep and instead picked up his phone. The light stung his tired eyes a bit but he didn't pay it no mind. Unlocking the phone, he opened Twitter, daring to have a look at the responses that were still coming in ever since they had posted last. 

It was mixture of the good and the bad.

So many people were asking what exactly had happened. Others were expressing scepticism that they hadn't informed their fans in some manner. Others were just being thankful for their reappearance. And then there was the sort that would say things along the lines of “I always hoped to find out if Phan was real, but never quite like this.”

He would've laughed but the sound dried up in his throat before he could even begin. 

He looked up Dan's mentions next and what he saw made his heart hurt. There were those who had taken upon themselves to attack Dan, as if blaming him for hurting Phil and how even if it wasn't bad enough for the stay in prison that he should have stayed anyways. 

Those messages made him angry and they hurt simultaneously. 

They stabbed him in the eye in between all the other tweets that were more similar to those that Phil had received. He wanted to jump to Dan's defense, but he didn't. They had talked for a long time before the update and they knew what they had signed up for with it. They had agreed not to address hate, the same way they hadn't before.

It's just that this time it was so much different, and so much more serious.

With a frustrated sound, he dropped his phone on the nightstand that he'd fit into the new room, and laid down. His body was tired, the hot shower and the hour of the night doing their deed on it, but his mind was alarmed. The images of his nightmares were still present and he realised that he was afraid to go back to them.

He was afraid to fall asleep, afraid of letting the past take him away again.

He was afraid of the pain, the fear and the darkness that had come to him after those. 

It was the nothingness after life cut short far too soon.

He knew that he had almost missed having a second chance.


	20. Veritas aequitas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Panic attacks, physical violence

The morning was void of the liveliness that had always encompassed the most difficult of the mornings in the place they had called home.

The TV was blaring in the background but neither of them were paying any attention to it. 

It had taken a while, but eventually Phil had fallen asleep, the tiredness winning over the fear. Morning come, he sat by the kitchen table with the spoon in his mouth but the food that he had stuck into it was long since gone, his eyes absently staring at the surface of the table. His mind was far away, dancing around the past and the future, completely abolishing present for a while in favour of the former two.

There was nothing and nobody who would try to drag him out of that either.

Because Dan was randomly stirring his cereal without really eating it as he sat across from Phil, his gaze just as absent while watching the slow swirling of the food as it turned into a gross slush. His face was void of emotion, and even if Phil had been present enough, he wouldn't have been able to tell what exactly was on Dan's mind. He would have been only able to guess considering the day and time.

The baking show in the background was a mere white noise. It was what ticked down the time till they had to leave.

“It's almost noon,” Phil, finally drawing himself out of his trance, took another spoonful of his, by now unpleasantly slushy, cereal and glanced at the time. 

That seemed to bring Dan back to the reality as well, though his answer was a mere grunt. Phil watched as the other man pushed himself up from his seat, and poured the sludge that had been his breakfast down the drain. Long fingers reached out for the mug of, now probably lukewarm, coffee as he pulled up to his lips to take a sip, back against the counter. 

There was that same absent glaze over his gaze again. 

“The cab will be here in twenty minutes,” Phil, as if trying to fill the silence between the two, continued on and, after grabbing a few more spoonfuls of his breakfast, set the bowl aside too.

He could see the tension in just about every fiber of Dan's being. Though moving absently, he was too rigid and for a moment it looked like he was trying hard not to bite into the rim of the ceramic cup. 

Besides, it wasn't like Dan to be this quiet. Though he wasn't always talking, as much of a surprise it would be to most of their viewers, there was always some kind of sound around the man. 

Now there was only ominous silence.

“Come here,” Phil stood up and pried the cup from Dan's hands gently. Instantly Dan wrapped his arms around himself, the fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater tightly and Phil frowned. It was hostile, how the nails would be biting into the fabric and how Dan's face would unwittingly squirm when they dug too far and into the flesh.

“Hey, stop it,” He reached out to gently pull at Dan's arms and though at first he didn't want to, finally Dan released the hold and looked at Phil. 

“What's up?” Phil continued to supply the conversation between the two, trying to read what was going on behind those beautiful brown eyes. There was some kind of hesitation, and there was doubt, and Phil wanted to ask about it but he couldn't because there was something that reduced him speechless hidden in those dark depths. There was something that looked like fear too, and it made him want to hug Dan close, yet the way they stood made him maintain the little distance.

Suddenly, Dan's hands slipped out of his grasp, and found their way to Phil's face, cupping it gently though Phil could feel the fingers trembling as they settled against his jawline. Dan leaned in and Phil's eyes fell shut in an instant when their lips met. It was light, as if questioning kiss, so he leaned into it more to give it encouragement, arms finding their comfortable space around Dan's waist to draw the younger man in closer. 

But just as suddenly as Dan had leaned in, he pulled away, and Phil's lips felt too cold left abandoned like that. Dan pulled out of the hold as well, leaving Phil standing in the kitchenette, alone and confused as Dan quickly retreated into his bedroom, the door clicking softly when it closed behind him. 

It had been their first kiss in far too many months, but the way it played out was far from what Phil would ever expected. 

His heart ached with a slight sense of rejection.

And in the midst of it all, Dan hadn't said a word. Worry was heavy in the pit of his stomach and slowly he walked across the small space of their apartment, knocking on the door, but there was no answer. 

“Dan?” He tried to call out, knocking again, but when he was greeted only by more silence, he carefully cracked the door open. He was met with the sight of Dan sitting on the edge of his bed, looking down at his feet unseeingly, arms wrapped tight around himself and some stray tears staining his cheeks, almost as if the tear ducts were too exhausted to show the full feeling.

“Hey now, talk to me, what's wrong?” Instantly Phil sat down next to the other man, arm wrapped around Dan's back and he could tell just how bad Dan felt when his whole frame shook at his touch. 

Dan, shaking his head in response, brought up his hand to vigorously rub the sleeve of the sweater over his eyes to dry them, the skin reddening easily “S-sorry,” Dan finally croaked out and with a light hush, Phil pulled the other closer, wrapping both arms around him “I was just….” 

But what Dan wanted to say Phil never found out. The words trailed off, faltered into the light shiver that had taken over Dan's body again. There was only silence, filled with the TV still going on from the other room. 

Many questions went through Phil's head, a lot of things that hadn't been said or discussed yet. He wanted to ask them all, to assure himself and Dan, too. His tongue was tied though.

“I'm here with you, Dan,” Phil assured quietly and though his words were to soothe Dan, he realised that they were full of thankfulness for himself, as well. 

======

Though tears had dried, Dan still looked like a mess when they arrived at the police station, the bland concrete and the bustle of the criminal office overwhelming and making him curl in on himself once again. Phil, lightly touching Dan's arm, lead him through the hallways, following the the policeman that had arrived to collect them from the front door.

It was strange, entering the place. His face was void of what he really felt, a lot of fears buried within but there were some feelings that were more prominent than that.

There was loathing in Phil's heart, when he looked around, for though he'd always had trust in the police, the realisation that they were the reason Dan was struggling so hard now was too strong to ignore. He watched them, filling their reports, drinking their coffee and chatting, laughing or frowning, on their phones and some entering and exiting the building and it made his stomach twist with rising acid. 

He tried not to hold grudge, not let it show on his face, but he couldn't help but to feel the budding anger and the bitterness of disappointment in their flawed juridical system.

“You may wait here during the hearing,” The policeman drew in Phil's attention while pointing at a bench down the hallway.

“But I'm suppo--” He began; he had promised to join Dan, even though subconsciously he feared the truth. He wanted to know what was plaguing Dan, to help him to work through it.

“You should stay, Phil,” He looked at Dan, who was now looking right at him and there was adamant decision in his eyes. Something that he hadn't seen in a long time, and never to reject Phil's presence.

It threw him off, and naturally he felt the need to protest and yet he swallowed his words, instead opting for a simple question.

“Are you sure?” 

Dan just nodded.

Slowly, surprise written on his face Phil retreated while Dan disappeared inside the room, the door soon closed behind him and there was the returning worry that had won over the earlier anger. For as long as he had known Dan, he knew how stubborn Dan could be, but whatever had happened in those long months had turned it from daily quarrels and creative differences into something else. It had locked Dan up again and, after being so used to reading Dan like an open book, it was a harsh reality that occurred to Phil. 

It was hard to witness, and the more minutes passed of Phil just sitting on the bench, the more guilt began to fester in his gut.

He knew that he couldn't do much about what had happened, he couldn't help his body from slipping into a coma like that, and he couldn't help the fact that whatever bias had been used against Dan had dragged the young man to hell. And yet….

He wished that he would have woken earlier, to never have agreed upon that meeting that was part of the reason why they had argued in the first place. Then maybe they wouldn't be so screwed up now, Dan would talk to him, and Phil could sleep peacefully instead of jerking up awake in the middle of the night out of fear only to be too frightened to let himself fall back asleep easily.

Five minutes passed. 

Ten. 

As it was coming close to twenty, Phil found his foot tapping impatiently, eyes set on the door in the distance and his heart pounding anxiously. Just how much had happened that it was taking so long? Was Dan having a hard time answering? Or were they asking questions that would reduce Dan speechless completely and dubious in the eyes of the law again?

It felt like he could hear Dan, from the distance, but he shook his head, sure it was the overall station chatter materialising Phil's worries.

But it was also his worries that finally brought him up from his seat and slowly, one hesitant step at a time he neared the door, jumping a little whenever somebody would brush past him. 

He was mere five steps away when several things happened so quickly that he didn't even get a moment to react.

The door to the room opened swiftly, and fuming Dan appeared in the doorway, his face red and blotchy and eyes dark and full of anger and embarrassment. 

At the same time, a heavy body suddenly stumbled into Phil. He tripped over his feet and suddenly found himself on the ground, next the a policeman struggling with somebody who was wiggling and laughing, all while cursing at the other policeman trying to pull the guy back up on his feet.

But it was that laugh.

Phil knew it.

His heart felt like it had stopped completely, and his face drained of colour instantly when he looked up from where he had fallen on his hands and knees onto the solid concrete floor. And his body ached, but the reality before him didn't allow his brain to register the pain at all. 

All he could do was stare, mouth slightly agape, pupils shrunk and his body struggling with adjusting after the jerk of his heart and lack of normally drawn breaths.

The face that was grinning at him in curiosity was a plaguing reminder, far too real and far too clear in front of him.

“Huh, what do you know, this one pulled through after all,” There was only laughter in that voice and the eyes that stared at him felt pitch black, contrasting the pale bleached mop of hair. It was like staring at the death itself where it would laugh at him for even trying to avoid it.

Phil felt his whole body take control as his mind was frozen in fear. Hands and feet were scrambling, and he hit his hip as he stumbled and fell again. The pain, however, still never registered, and he kept scrambling away until his back hit the wall and only then did some part of his consciousness noted the trembling of his lips as his lungs expelled small, incoherent sounds. 

Though it was a clear image in front of him, in Phil's mind it was stained with blood and ash, and the other man wasn't chained up and sneering. Instead he was close, too close, hovering over Phil as he couldn't find it in himself to rise from the ground, to fight or run. He just covered when the man curiously leaned towards him, and the words spilled from his lips without any direct command of his consciousness, where only alarms and pain and swirl of death and loneliness had taken over.

“D-d-do-don't, p-ple-plea-please,” He didn't hear his own begging, he didn't feel the world around him more than just the laughter that was filling his being, coming, alive and fully menacing, from the lungs of the same person “Pl-ple-please don-don't h-hurt m-me… I-it h-h-hurts….” 

He couldn't see anymore properly. Tears spilled, his throat was closing up and his arms wrapped around his head were trying to hide away as he pushed closer to the wall, clumsy feet slipping on the ground as he tried to push further as if he could morph through the concrete if he tried hard enough. 

What he didn't notice was the realisation that dawned upon Dan's face. At first already angry, it became momentarily worried when Phil had been shoved only for a hot white flash anger to take over when he understood. When he looked over to the man that Phil was covering away from so desperately.

What Phil didn't hear was the hiss, low, full of blood and seething, that escaped Dan's throat when he fully turned to the sneering man, now on his feet again where police had dragged him, still struggling to hold him steady. 

What he never saw was the way Dan flung himself at the man, arms out and ready to murder as if something had just snapped in the younger man's soul and everything bad that had been gathering was spilling over the edges. Like black tar it covered everything good that had been left struggling, now blinded by the loathing and hurt and everything that had gone wrong. 

He never saw the absolute absence of mercy and the usual softness on Dan's features.

Phil was rocking slightly, gasping his breaths and muttering out pleas as the laughter increased and then ceased into the sounds of the commotion - Dan's gargled yells that made no sense, the sounds of bodies, attacking and defending, the footsteps and yelling of the police and the way that there was somebody trying to help Phil up, to drag him out of the middle of the mess that had arisen in the hallway. He only curled up more, trying to pull away from the touch absentmindedly, his fingers tangling into the long locks of hair that he hadn't yet gotten the chance to rid himself of. 

The world was screaming inside and he was in pain, the actual feeling a ghost of a memory, but he couldn't make the difference between the past and the now. It was too real, it was too present, and it felt barely any different from back then.

And it felt like his heart was about to burst.


	21. Quod verum tutum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy this chapter! I am posting it early because I'm absent for the weekend and I hope that you will find answers to any questions that you had after reading the previous chapter!
> 
> Trigger warning: Mentions of sexual harassment, some self harm and physical violence.

The metal bars were all around him again, but he was at peace. 

Hands not bound this time, he sat there, like he was willing to accept whatever was to come, for he was not sorry at all about what he did. All he knew was that he felt like a little justice was served in the midst of the mess that this day had quickly become.

The hearing had started out alright, the general questions making him ease up a little, though a voice in the back of his head had been whispering that it would only get worse. 

And it did get worse very quickly.

“What prompted the fight between you two?” The question was spoken in such a monotone that it made him feel like he'd swallowed a handful of chalk, his mouth so dry that his face began to ache, the feeling as if extending to his sinuses and suffocating.

“I-- The--” He struggled before the words finally made a coherent sentence in his brain and found their way to his lips “It started before that already.”

There was a mild surprise and a request to explain, to which he did. 

To recall the encounters, from the first time that he had stumbled into Stanley in the cafeteria all the way till the last moments he'd seen that squared face was painful. Long pauses found their way into Dan's speech and his back hunched more and more, feeling the eyes on him and slowly - _that_ feeling returned.

That he was being judged. That they didn't want to believe him. That they were trying to find a way to blame him in the circumstances rather than hearing out his story and accepting it as, if not their then at least Dan's, truth. 

His nails dug into the delicate skin on his hips where his sweater had rode up, and he kept pressing down, his heart overflowing with adrenaline that made him want to tear at his skin more viciously. Every rustle of papers was adding to the fire and he was trying hard to keep his voice as steady as possible.

“So when he arrived to your workstation, you decided to fight back due to the absence of his usual accomplices?” 

His skin felt too hot and full of prickling, and he squirmed when the pain was becoming unbearable beneath where his nails trailed. 

“No,” He merely breathed out and fell silent, unable to elaborate on the story just yet. Instead he shivered when the ghost of a touch returned and he felt sick at the mere thought of it. He'd been reminded of it so many times, but the full trip down the memory lane had made it so much more real again. He even leaned forward a little when the back of the chair turned into something else in his memory. 

“Water?” The policeman reminded Dan about the cup on the table that he hadn't touched once.

That didn't change.

His mind was in a battle with itself.

Dan had heard a lot about this, the survivor's guilt. That fear of telling people about what had happened or had nearly happened, thinking that they would not believe it or would see it as a lot smaller thing than it was. About the instability of whether it was the victim's fault that it happened or was it outside their control. About how it was to try and take back their life because to blame themselves was the most controlled thing at that moment.

And he didn't want to go ahead and call himself a survivor or a victim. He'd been close to becoming one, but he wasn't one. No matter where it would put him, he wasn't the same. He'd gotten lucky. 

It didn't happen.

Or so he kept telling himself all whilst he felt his stomach twisting more viciously with every passing moment of him thinking about the happenings in the prison shower. 

Nails dragged across his skin painfully when he suddenly reached out to grab onto the cup, seeking to quench the feeling in his gut with a sip. The water was lukewarm, and as soon as it hit his tongue he felt the twisting increase so he set it back on the table and hid his face in his hands. 

It felt like too much and like he was going to hurl.

It was when his fingers touched the hairline, where small curls were forming into a reminiscence of what was his hairdo before, that he finally looked up, took a deep breath and spoke, palms on his legs sweaty, nails shamelessly pushing at the fabric of the jeans again, craving for the violence. 

For the violence allowed him to take control of his own thoughts and body.

“He attempted to assault me…. S-sexually,” His voice wavered, failed him but he sat straight, trying to hold his ground though his eyes were locked onto the light switch across the room. 

“He didn't succeed,” It was more of a statement than a question and it made him feel sicker, and the memories that he was zoning in on were full of anger and fear. It had taken too much from him to actually say it out loud, and he felt how the words were disregarded even before any consideration was given to them.

“No. Rudy--,” Dan suddenly realised that he'd never learnt the man's family name “The inmate I was on duty with pulled him off me at the last moment.”

Dan expected follow up questions from there on but he was struck by the next words, completely unjust.

“Did you act in any way or form promiscuously to prompt such behaviour?”

“Pardon me?” Dan was surprised by how steady the words came from his mouth at that moment, and he couldn't believe that he had actually been asked that. He noted the way the paper was overturned on his own record as if they were merely discussing the weather rather than questioning something serious.

“It states here that you're in a domestic partnership with Philip Michael Lester, and you have admitted in previous hearings of your own case that the nature was, indeed, romantic.” 

“What does this have anything to do with this?!” He didn't expect to be so loud, but he didn't care about it either. Dan couldn't believe what he was hearing and what it implied. It burned through the shock quickly and turned it into a sparking anger. 

“Please answer the question, Mister Howell,” When the words left the policeman's mouth, Dan dug his nails into his legs more, holding himself from leaping at the other man in anger. 

“Of course fucking not,” The answer felt forced polite though he'd sworn in it, but it was met with a mere notetaking on the policeman's side, going on as if nothing out of place had happened.

“We'll need a detailed explanation of the situation still, once we invite the attorney, if you're willing to testify against him in court, too.” 

He didn't even remember when he had agreed and when the questioning had concluded. It was only when he was walking out of the room did he understand that it was over, and he saw Phil's face again, worried but so loveable. Something he was afraid of losing. Something that he _had_ almost lost so many times. 

Suddenly, too far for Dan to catch him, Phil fell and Dan's initial anger was invaded by the worry only to quickly change to confusion when Phil began to stutter and scramble away from whoever had ran into him. It was a mess and happened so fast that it didn't even properly occur to Dan until it was over.

He only knew that he suddenly understood. 

A sneering face that terrified Phil. 

Something that made him try to get away so desperately. 

Something that made him beg.

All the anger that had built up exploded and he leaped at the laughing menace, the same way he'd done with Stanley. Hands worked on their own accord and his joints ached but it was a far-away feeling and it was only hurt unloaded that he cared about.

For all that had happened. He wanted to get it all out, to show this devil incarnate what he had caused.

Before Dan knew it, he'd been pulled off, held back while they took the other man away. He could only see the blood dripping from the nose and the way skin was already swelling where his hits had landed.

Dan's fists ached but he couldn't find it in himself to regret his actions at all. It was only when he looked over at Phil, still curled against the wall, that his anger finally settled. The sight of Phil like this hurt his heart as if somebody had attempted to brutally rip it out of his chest but had given up halfway. 

“Please, take a good care of him,” The words spilled from his lips desperately and the woman that had crouched next to Phil looked up, regarded Dan for a silent moment and then nodding.

After that Dan found himself in the temporary cell at the station, and thought so much of him hurt, he only sat there, his arms numbly by his sides and the gaze absent.

He felt no regret about what he'd done, only for the fact he hadn't comforted Phil himself when he had needed it the most.

======

His body was pin cushion and the needles were cutting through his skin, the nerve endings alarmed.

His knuckles ached a lot, but it was his heart that ached the most when he was finally released, a mere warning noted to his file. Any other day he would have wondered why he'd gotten through so lightly, but he couldn't care enough about it now. All he could see was the ghostly pale face of Phil as he stood there in the hallway, the tall frame leaning against the wall a little like he was trying not to collapse on the spot, yet still refusing the help from the policewoman that had promised to take care of him. 

“I told them, Dan,” Phil spoke weakly, the voice trembling a faint bit, and Dan understood without a further explanation. 

Instead of trying to find words to answer, Dan rushed up to Phil, wrapping his arms around to pull Phil's body close to his own, embracing him tightly. 

He feared that it would be too much, that Phil would push him away after all that had happened, that it would finally be too much and he wouldn't want to deal with Dan anymore. That finally he had overstepped some line that would set Dan at the same level of everyone else who had hurt him throughout his life.

It scared him, and he was desperate to hold on. 

Instead, he felt the grip of Phil's arms around his body, holding just as desperately. Fingers curled tightly into the back on his sweater and a gasping breath rested against his neck, causing goosebumps to rise.

It felt like an eternity of them pressed against one another, clinging like their lives depended on it. 

And in a way, at that moment, - they did. 

======

Dan hissed under his breath when the cleaning solution began to bubble on the broken skin on his knuckles, as he tried to treat it carefully. 

Even then though, through all the pain that the stinging was causing, he was constantly focusing on the sound of the running water in the shower, alert.

Phil hadn't said anything else after they had left the station, brushing off the offers to call the ambulance and insisting that he was merely tired and would like to head home. The ride home had been silent. Only when they had arrived, Phil had muttered a mere ''Shower,'' before disappearing into the bathroom. 

Silence was not uncommon, but there was something about these kinds of silences that was not right.

Dan could hear the water stop, and he shifted to look at the bathroom door, all whilst holding a pack frozen vegetables on his hand. When Phil emerged from the bathroom, he tried to smile.

“Hey,” Dan's tone was soft, and he was greeted by a small smile in return.

“Hey yourself,” Phil's voice was still heavy and worn out, the same way his face seemed to sag and how his limbs would drag with every step that he took, passing Dan with only a heavy and thoughtful silence in the air that surrounded him. 

Dan just watched, and the smile was disappeared from his features, unable to remain alive in the heaviness.

He wanted to stop him. To hug him close again. To get behind those walls that were hiding what really was on Phil's mind. 

To erase the terrors Dan could only imagine laid in that beautiful mind.

Phil paused with his hand on his bedroom doorknob and turned towards Dan who looked back curious through the tiredness of his own. 

“I miss sharing,” Phil admitted quietly. 

Dan understood.

They had always had each their own rooms, because no matter how close, they still needed their own creative space. It came in handy when they weren't agreeing on something - too. 

And they had been disagreeing on a whole lot without a viable compromise on the horizon, for far too long.

A hand was extended towards Dan and he looked at it for a while before he finally placed the vegetables away and stood up, accepting the invitation. His freezing hand was a stark contrast to Phil's water-warmed skin, but it breathed some life into both, Phil gently tugging Dan to follow, the door left ajar behind them.

Dan's skin prickled and that anxious need to claw at his skin was there, but it was subtler, so he pushed it aside.

This was Phil and there was trust that came with that simple name title. It was that feeling of a familiar palm in his and the sight of that same frame, no matter how much the word had tried to bend and break it.

It was as if they were in a dream. Face to face on Phil's colourful bed covers, without a word uttered, just gazing at one another in a proximity that was so familiar yet somehow completely new. 

There was pain in the silence, extending from beneath their eyes. The two caged behind their minds and unable to break free, to speak the faults nor show them. 

Only their fingers remained interlaced, the hands laid on the covers between them, in a quiet hope for stability.

======

Days turned into weeks and life continued on, obligations piled up and reality was demanding action. 

And it was so difficult to handle.

“Hey guys!” He heard from Phil's bedroom, only for silence to follow, and then again and again until a frustrated sound that sounded like a tossed pillow echoed through the apartment from behind the closed doors. 

And the apartment felt so cold and distant to him, too.

Dan was staring at the letter he'd received in the mail the other day, all whilst stirring his tea that had long since gone cold. There was an identical one sitting on the corner of the table, addressed to Phil, but it had been left unopened, and Dan could see why.

It was a court notice. 

Both of them knew why they had gotten one, and the plaguing thoughts were enough of a reminder. 

Yet it was a reality that they had to face eventually.

Phil's bedroom door opened and a very defeated Phil emerged. Dan regarded him with sympathy. The mere idea of creating a video had made Dan want to curl up after he had finally had a look at his twitter replies. Though many were nice about the unknown situation, the angry and mean people were louder, more noticeable, they stuck to Dan's brain like thistle to wool. 

Many had been curious about more content, but it was too soon. He couldn't do it.

“No luck?” He tried to bring the conversation up gently, a light shadow of humour attempting to break through.

Phil just shook his head, grabbing a mug and preparing some coffee “Headache,” There was only a murmur of a response, the previously joyous tone Phil had tried using for recording completely exhausted.

Dan chewed at his lip whilst the chair scraped at the floor with Phil pulling it out to take a seat, too.

“We need to do something,” Finally, brows furrowed a little, Dan said, and rubbed a hand against the back of his head where the hair felt more natural grown back quite well though he was yet to try and have it re-styled. 

“We already are, all the time,” Phil tried to humour but there was dead dryness to the tone and it was torturing to hear that flatness. It was as if all the true joy and liveliness had been sucked out of both, like they were tired out by the world, yet continuing on almost robotically. 

Dan still offered a very small chuckle to that, warmth of at least trying attempting to fill what felt like his void existence. 

“Phil.”

“Dan?”

There was a silent moment and Dan bit at his lip again, trying to, over and over, remind himself that he had the right of suggesting. The right to speak. The right to try and direct towards actions that would be the better approach.

He was not a nuisance, a speck of dirt trying to organise a parade.

He was an equal human being.

“I think you need to open this,” Finally he spoke, and his fingers reached out for the unopened envelope, sliding it across the wooden surface towards Phil. 

“If we want to not waste away,” Though he spoke to Phil, it was a reassurance to himself as well, an attempt to rationalise the idea as it was supposed to be and to try and make himself believe it as well “We need to get through this first.”

And as their eyes met, it was silence again at first, but finally, a trembling hand reached out and Dan released the letter as Phil pulled it closer to him.

“I know,” The answer was so faint that Dan could have missed it within the noise of an opening envelope.


	22. Paulatim ergo centre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Some panic/anxiety, nightmares and self-harm

“N-no--” 

Shifting and muttering were the first to resonate to Dan through the sleep and in the drowsiness of it all, he almost assumed that it was just some weird lucid dream at first. Instead, unfortunately, he knew better already, and he forced himself to wake up, though his brain was struggling against it, still not prepared for the transition from sleep to being awake.

“P-please--” The muttering continued, desperate and so slurred that it barely made sense. It was only the fact that Dan was so close that allowed him to make sense of the words.

Suddenly, the whole bed shook when Phil began to toss, more restlessness in every movement, the hands gripping at the shirt, crumpling and pulling at it while beads of sweat were forming on the pale forehead, the freshly redone fringe plastered to it.

“H-hey,” Dan's voice, hoarse from sleep still, cracked trying to speak. He extended his arms, attempting to push himself upwards, only to clumsily fall with his face against the pillow when he failed to find balance fast enough. His blanket was wrapped around him tightly like a cocoon, too, restricting his movement, and he fell like a log.

It was tiredness that pulled at his eyelids, many nights interrupted by either of their horrors, that made him want to give up. Instead he knew that he wouldn't sleep calmly until Phil did too, though a lot of anxiety was caused by the awake body when it lied too close. A lot of wounds were fresh still and he knew that he'd have to push through by force, if necessary. 

“Phil, come on, wake up,” He finally found himself sat upwards, reaching out to shake Phil awake, to try and pull the other man out of the nightmares again. 

“Get off me!” The yell was louder than anything Dan had experienced till then, and suddenly he felt himself shoved backwards. The impact was strong enough that he slipped off the edge of the bed, too tangled in the blanket and too sleepy to catch himself before it was too late. His lips formed a swear when his tailbone connected with the bedroom floor and the feeling sent a jolt throughout the length of his back. The pain caused stars to spring out into his vision and it took a moment to blink them away.

All the while he could hear incoherent murmuring - at first more frantic, only to slowly cease into silence filled only with heavy breathing. 

Dan stayed sat on the floor, trying to blink away the remaining dancing whiteness in his vision. A ghost of pain expanded from his back, a memory landing one punch after the other, and his skin burned where Phil's hands had pushed against Dan's side and arm. 

He tried and tried to push the feeling away, to remind himself that it was not bound to happen again.

Stanley was in high security by now; Dan's testimony in the court had been enough to ensure it.

But it still haunted him. Not only from within but from the outside now too, where far too many familiar faces were present to hear him pronounce the words shakily, explaining what had happened, what could have happened. There were glances sent his way when they thought that he couldn't see, full of pity, and words vary of potentially coming close to reminding Dan of what had happened.

He hated it. They made things worse than they had been already, though he never imagined that anything could, still. 

“Dan?” A faint, filled with the remaining bit of frantic, voice called out for him and slowly he was drawn back to the reality and he could finally see the silhouette of Phil, sat up and looking around in search of Dan.

“Right here,” Finally disentangling from the blanket, Dan pulled himself up and it was without looking that he knew that there were eyes on him. He hated the feeling of being observed silently, like if one needed to think hard and long about what was safe to say. And it made him even more uncomfortable when vulnerable out of sleepiness. 

He tried to fight the feeling away and wrapped the blanket tightly around his shoulders as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He tried to make sure that Phil knew that Dan was here and that he was willing to take on and help with whatever the other was bearing.

Because through it all, Phil had made him feel safer, even through all the nightly terrors and the daily reminders of how not fine they both were. 

“You know that he won't be coming back again,” Dan murmured gently, watching how Phil rubbed at his face with the hem of the sweat-soaked shirt, a bit too vigorously but it wasn't frantic and that was better than some nights. 

“I know,” There was a rough, teary quality about Phil's voice when he responded, and the lack of belief was too evident. Dan just reached out with his hand to touch Phil's arm lightly, an attempt to reassure the older man, and an attempt to feel that warmth and familiar softness beneath his fingertips to reassure himself, too.

It felt like their peace was a single fragile entity, and every time it was mended, it was for them both rather than for one at a time.

Gingerly, Phil began to move again, stripping the soaked piece of clothing off and tossing where the laundry basket was overflowing already. 

“Shower?” It was like a routine by now, but he still narrated through it in a familiar manner, where Phil would merely nod and ask for what time it is.

It was 3:29am. 

It didn't really matter to either of them.

I was as if a mere formality to understand where they stood in time.

The water was running. 

Dan stirred two cups of tea, the steam curling up in the air slowly, the pattern of the night too familiar for Dan to even care to try and create images in the rising curls anymore. The blanket still secured around him and dragging uncomfortably on the floor, he made the two small trips to bring the cups to the table, and sat down. 

The water kept on running.

And it kept going.

The steam disappeared from the surface of the two drinks and only when Dan took an absentminded sip did he realise that his drink had gone lukewarm. 

And that the water in the shower was still going, endless like the numbness Dan's mind had fallen into. 

“Phil?” The blanket slipping off his shoulders as he rose up, Dan tentatively knocked on the bathroom door. 

Instead of an answer there was just a small, broken sound. 

Prompted by his gut, Dan didn't question again, instead pushing the door open, thankful that there was no lock to it. The whole room was so warm, so humid with the hot steam rolling from the shower. 

“Oh Phil,” Dan's heart broke a little more when he noted the tall man curled up in the corner of the shower. He turned off the water, unconcerned by how his long-sleeved shirt was getting splattered with water droplets, and without the water blocking the way anymore, he stepped inside the shower cabin, kneeling next to where Phil was sat.

“Come now,” He tried to pull him up but Phil didn't comply, instead curling up a little bit more, the water droplets running down his face in reminisce of tears but they both knew that they had exhausted theirs “Phil, come on, you'll get sick.” 

“I'm so scared,” The whisper was low, but Dan caught it anyways. It made him ache more.

They had confined in one another for years yet it was so rare to hear this sort of defeat. It was like the world had finally won, the wrath of the universe infinitely more powerful than either of them could ever dream of being. 

“He's gone, you made sure that he's locked away,” Dan promised, reaching out to wrap his arm around Phil's shoulders though the moisture soaked through the fabric of his clothing, making him shiver slightly.

“I know,” Almost like in a deja vu the answer followed, but the air was heavy with the unsaid.

“What then?” Dan gently prompted, his head swimming a little with the tiredness, making the words even more exhausted on his lips.

“I'm...” Phil trailed off and wrapped his arms around his knees a little tighter as goosebumps appeared on the pale limbs, making Dan want to draw him in closer. And he did. Despite the feeling, Dan slowly leaned against the wet wall and sat onto the floor, and though his pajamas were ruined for the night, it was one of the unimportant things in the night. 

Seated side by side, they breathed the steamy air, the heat exchanged by the cold rolling in through the door that Dan had left open. Finally, Phil took the invitation of the arm around his shoulders and leaned into Dan's side, releasing a shaky breath as he did so “I'm afraid to fall asleep,” Dan felt the shiver that ran through the entirety of Phil's body at that and he drew him in closer, rubbing his hand over the other man's arm in an attempt to soothe and to keep him warm.

“I can't…. It feels like….” Phil tried to go on but the words kept failing him. He swallowed, and Dan could hear it, leaning in to kiss the wet mop of hair encouragingly “That nothingness….. Dan, it's so terrifying...”

“You're not going anywhere,” Dan assured and squeezed Phil a little bit to emphasise it “You're alive and healthy. I'm not letting anything hurt you again, to take you away,” And though both knew that it was only the temporary and the mortality would catch up on them eventually, there was some comfort in those words.

Differences happened, but leaving them unsolved was what had turned their lives into this mess. Now they knew better, how it was to live, how they were supposed to do it right. 

If only they weren't the way they were now.

“Come on, you'll catch a cold like this,” Finally Dan pulled them both up and lead Phil out of the shower cabin, grabbing one of the fluffy towels as he began to dry Phil's hair gently. The other man swayed a little, the tiredness beginning to catch up on both gradually, but he allowed Dan to finish dabbing at his skin until he was dry enough.

A fresh dry towel wrapped around Phil, Dan sent him back to the bedroom, watching as the older man complied with his head nodding a little too much in the agreement “I'll come soon,” Dan promised when Phil paused in the doorway and looked up questioningly “I promise.”

He watched as Phil disappeared before he pulled at his wet shirt, peeling the fabric off his body and dropping it on the drying rack carelessly. He was about to do the same with the bottoms when he heard the soft gasp behind him.

“Phil, what--” Instinctively Dan tried to bring his hands up to cover his chest and arms though he had once grown so comfortable being shirtless around Phil.

Now he had something that he was ashamed of again.

“I forgot my bottoms,” A hand was motioned in the direction of where the pair of pajama bottoms had been left. Dan only gave Phil a small nod to that, unsure of what to do, for his shame was already out in the open like it hadn't been before yet. Hands wound around his torso, barely doing anything to cover the angry lines and the dotted irritation of skin that was still healing from all the scratching. 

He hated them, willed his hands to stop, but there had been some release in pushing through the first discomfort, and allowing the redness bloom beneath his skin till it reached a bruise-like quality. It made him feel calmer though his heart would continue to race, but the tingling sensation and the pinch of pain felt like they justified it better than any of the anxious dreams and thoughts ever could.

“N-no,” He muttered, voice wavering, when Phil inched closer, and suddenly he felt more vulnerable than ever. It wasn't a fearful vulnerability and more that full of shame and he tried to step away when Phil began to crowd his space. He wanted to turn his back, but he couldn't and instead he hunched more, trying to hide away by curling in on himself.

A light caress of fingers trailed the lines on Dan's shoulder and his breath got caught in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the water-wrinkled fingertips continue their trailing across his skin almost as if begging for forgiveness. They touched the shoulders, the arms, the sides with the utmost gentleness and with every loving caress Dan felt more and more guilty that he'd caused them.

He knew that these scratches were of his own doing and that he had to stop, and yet he couldn't help but to feel like they belonged there and new ones had to crowd his skin as soon as the others would begin to fade.

The touch to his chin made his whole flesh burn with fire and he tried hard to not flinch away from it. Eyes snapped open, his heart rate increased, and his nails lightly bit into the bare skin again almost as if he was clinging on the edge of a cliff.

But it was peaceful, strangely.

Lips found his forehead and his eyes fell shut for a moment again before he reopened them when he felt Phil's forehead press against Dan's after the lips had gone away. Blue eyes were full of distress and they were so, so tired, the usual joyful play of the different hues in the irises - faded. Their noses touched lightly as they stood there, not speaking for a while, but it wasn't speech that they needed now, and both knew.

Tentatively Dan leaned in and brushed his lips over Phil's. There was fear in that little movement and their eyes remained open, speaking silently in tides of push and pull of emotions they were struggling with, the questions left unspoken yet were answered just as mutely.

When they pulled away, he soon leaned in again, allowing himself to relax a little more, to let his body melt a little more into the kiss as the two mouths moved warmly against each other.

Warm. That was all it remained, the heat controlled within their hearts and it was before long that they pulled apart, still standing there with Phil's hand against the side of Dan's neck and Dan's arms wrapped around himself still. 

But they were close. Closer than for a while, the bare skin of their chests radiating heat in the close proximity, strong enough that one could almost cut it, if they tried hard enough.

“We need help,” Unwillingly, the words found their way to his slightly reddened lips where he could still taste Phil's own “We really need help.”

”I know,” Phil's breath ghosted his mouth, tempting Dan to lean in again and breathe it in the same way long nights had allowed him before. He found it hard to push himself though, as though he craved the feeling, he was also afraid of it and could feel it in the slight quiver of Phil's breaths, too.

It was like they were stuck in that limbo between knowing that their abusers had been locked away for good and knowing that for now they were locked with them still. It was like the marks on their body were more permanent and deeper than the scars, and it was too far gone for them to fix it.

Yet neither wanted to go down and give up. 

Not yet. 

Not when they had the chance to fight for resurfacing.

Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I just wanted to say that the next chapter is going to be the last chapter of this series and I hope that you will enjoy the ending when it comes next week :') Thank you for sticking with this till nearly the very end already <3


	23. Nec aspera terrent (Epilogue)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, we've reached the end of this story. It's hard to believe that it's actually done; this has been my biggest work ever and I grew very attached to it over the months <3 But it all wouldn't have been possible without the support of so many people, so this is to you all, who read and commented, who came back week after week or joined at the end, to those who felt along and who made me feel like there was some importance in me putting time into this story. Thank you all! I know I say this a lot, but I do mean it <3  
> And here's some specific people who helped me with this. To @free-to-being (tumblr) for submitting that prompt that got me to write this at all! To parentaladvisorybullshitcontent (tumblr & ao3) for being with me through the whole story, and allowing me to spam her and for her asking the right questions. To wavydanrises (tumblr & ao3) who would not mind me ranting as if endlessly about this! To philscurls (tumblr & ao3) for being a writing buddy and for helping me with some medical information that I wasn't certain about! To boncasphan (tumblr) for the help with psychology! And to everyone else who allowed me to rant/ramble all throughout from February all the way till now, when I was struggling with completing this because something didn't feel right about a certain scene. (If I forgot to mention someone, I don't mean to exclude you, you're still in the list of everyone who helped immensely <3)
> 
> This story wouldn't be here without all of you and I can't thank you all enough <3
> 
> ===
> 
> Trigger warning: Panic/anxiety attack

It was uncharacteristically cold for UK, even if they were on the Isle of Man. The dark air was glittering with the flurries falling from the sky, only to melt when they hit the ground.

There was nobody to witness it though. 

Instead, a cacophony of laughter, chatter and occasional Christmas carols poured from the inside of the Lester household. 

But this year it wasn't just the Lester family alone celebrating there. Instead the house was crowded with a mixture of the more familial Lester family and the more reluctant Howell family members, all seated around the Christmas meal laid out on the table that had been prepared during the day. 

There was ease and joy, almost as if nothing extraordinary had happened in the months leading up to the celebration. The clinking of table utensils against the plate, and the shuffling as the dishes were passed was natural, it felt like home.

“Hey, Phil,” Martyn’s voice rang across the table and Phil instantly looked up with a smile. Nobody who would have watched the two brothers and their large family would have guessed how close it all had been to being torn apart without a chance of salvaging. How quiet and mournful it could have been instead.

Dan laughed along when Phil and Martyn popped the Christmas cracker and a orange paper crown fell from it along with a little toy that landed in Martyn's plate.

“Oh come on, orange isn’t my best colour,” Dan flailed a little when Phil perched the hat on his head, and proceeded to make a face, pouting when he realised that both, Cornelia and his mum, had had the same idea to catch the moment in a photograph. 

“I think it looks wonderful on you,” Phil exclaimed and there was a varied degree of murmurs heard around the table, soon exchanged by another pop of a cracker that was pulled open and all the chatter that followed.

And in the midst of it all, it was easy for Dan to imagine that it was just another Christmas. If only he just let his mind focus on what was happening in the now alone and forget about what loomed on the inside of his skull.

It was with fondness that Dan observed the slight merge of the two very different households, if only for one night. So many things had been in the way for years, including Dan merely finding the idea awkward, that now it felt like a way overdue meeting to happen.

Now it felt right.

Dan sipped at the glass of champagne tentatively while looking around. There were their mums, discussing something quietly that Dan was sure was embarrassing considering the way they were laughing among themselves. There was his dad, in a, thankfully controlled, debate with someone else that Dan couldn't quite place. There was his grandma, gushing over a photo album that she had somehow acquired while Phil's grandfather was explaining each photo a little bit too loudly.

Even Adrian seemed to have found interesting topics to engage in with Cornelia, their shared interests unfolding with every passing minute, as well as their tempers, both of their faces expressionate while stating their opinions. All while Martyn would glance over every now and then in amusement before turning to chat with someone else in vicinity.

Though so different, the two families seemed to mash together well, and more crackers were popped, and food was consumed in between just as hungry conversations.

Once a revenge of an obnoxiously green paper crown was executed on Phil's head, there was a light clinking of a fork against a glass, inviting everyone to listen up. The chatter died down and everyone turned to look at Phil's father who stood up to speak. 

Automatically, Phil's hand found Dan's beneath the table and Dan returned the light squeeze without a moment’s wait. They had never been the ones for public affection, but the strength in their mutual presence was hard to ignore. And when anticipation was so close to fear, the shared strength kept them grounded.

“Dear friends and family,” Phil's father began and regarded everyone present softly. A manner that Dan recognised in Phil, too, when the occasion asked for it. 

“I want to thank you all for this wonderful evening of joint celebration,” There was a quietly murmured agreement around the table and the sound of Adrian nearly dropping the fork when he tried to grab for the champagne glass after he realised that he was the only one who wasn't holding his yet. That caused a fond chuckling to erupt around the dining table, but it was so soft that only a little pinkness dusted the younger Howell brother's cheeks. 

“This year was hard,” Dan could feel eyes on himself and Phil, and held onto Phil's hand a little stronger, feeling the same kind of response from the other man almost instantly “But we're all here now, healthy and working towards a brighter future, despite all of the hardships that life has been throwing at us,” There was a pause and Dan allowed himself to look away from the Lester senior and at Phil who looked back with a soft expression. 

He felt the dimples cratering his cheeks when their eyes met; it was still a sickly feeling that hid behind the irises, but now there was a spark of hope. It was not the same kind of defeat that still tended to plague them.

It was a good day, the bad ones having thinned if only by a little bit since they had sought out the appropriate help finally.

======

It had been difficult. 

The idea itself had sprung from Dan's mouth in the delirious mixture of tiredness, fright and the slight euphoria from the kiss. But once the morning had come, it was impossibly hard to commit to what they'd agreed upon.

There were a lot of thoughts swarming his head and he could tell - Phil's too, - that perhaps it had been an overreaction and they could deal with it on their own if given long enough. 

There were also the confused thoughts - how to find somebody who would understand, where to begin and how to approach this.

Was this necessary?

Would they actually run out of time?

Were they ready to try and speak about what had happened again?

And even when they had sat down by the computer to look up the information, Dan's fingers had been shaking furiously and he couldn't remember the last time that hitting the enter button had been so difficult. 

All the information had sat printed on the kitchenette table for days, and far too many guilty glances were cast at it until one day when Dan had found Phil sitting on the kitchen counter, the paper slightly crumpled in his hand. At first Dan had assumed that Phil was just thinking, staring out the small window tiredly like Dan had found him one too many times, until Phil spoke up, a dry-tongued voice making the words shakier than they should have been.

Before long, each had a label attached to their problems and though it didn't solve them, there was a kind of comfort in understanding what was going on. It gave a sense of continuity to their lives. 

Even so, it hadn't made things easier at all, not at first. 

“I don't want the pills,” Dan muttered, looking at the prescriptions that he'd received before eying the single bottle of pinkish pills that Phil had received meanwhile. Just looking at the difference made Dan feel sicker to the gut than he already was. 

Why was he so weak? Why did he need so much medication? How messed up exactly was he? Or did he just look like a mess because he couldn't keep himself collected and hadn't slept a wink the night before?

There had even been a thought that was swallowed up by guilt and anger soon after it had appeared, asking why was he even trying still if he was so broken.

The papers in his hand made him feel like a bigger failure of a human being than ever before.

“You can always just go with the therapy like the doctor suggested?” Phil patiently reminded all whilst gripping at the little pill bottle without any indication that he was willing to take the medication either. Like it was making Phil go down a similar lane of thought. 

And just that notion alone made Dan feel worse. That those thoughts had crossed his mind in the first place.

It felt selfish to have even for a moment considered giving up, when they had agreed to do it together. It was about them getting help before it was too late.

He didn't want to believe that it was too late.

Even if it felt like it some days.

“Yeah...” 

======

“Through the darkest of times, we've made new friends,” Dan turned back to Lester senior and brought up the champagne flute in a silent agreement. 

“And we've found out who were the real friends from those we had before,” The older Lester leaned forward with a light chuckle, making the unfortunate reality sound so much nicer than it would've been in any other case. 

“So let's have a toast for the new friends, old, the family and for the next year to give us a bit of a break,” A tame laughter chimed around the table before the numerous voices agreed and the champagne hit the thirsty mouths. It sizzled also on Dan's tongue before the bubbles settled in his stomach, warming it in a familiar, pleasant manner.

It made him want to sink into his seat more, to let his mind wander off in hopes that it would avoid the demons and lounge on the clouds of clear daydream instead. 

Even if only for a little while, he wanted to experience pure peace of mind.

======

The first weeks after the initial screening were hard. 

Though a lot had been obvious from the very start, it was also a lot of issues from his past that had resurfaced, too. Ones he'd never addressed to begin with, now amplified by the trauma of the past year. The things he'd been carrying with him for far too long, now finally let free and taking over his consciousness like wildfire. 

It was the explanation he'd been looking for, one which explained why he'd been prescribed so many things right away, but it didn't make him feel any less miserable. 

He'd been so sure that he'd once hit the rock bottom already, but it was now that with every passing day he began to wonder more if perhaps the abyss had no bottom, as he kept on falling and falling.

He felt out of control more than ever before. 

And he hated the medication though they kept telling him to take it to ease the feeling. 

It made him so tired. The nightmares sucked the energy out of his limbs and the medication as if took away his mobility or the consciousness when he found himself moving through a strange strings of memory like a dream that he kept falling in and out of.

It was when his hands had begun shaking, the pills rattling in the bottle, that he sometimes found himself so fed up with his weakness that he'd throw the bottles across the bathroom only to scatter some of the contents on the floor when one of the caps couldn't take the amount of violence it had been put under. It was like some of the days were passing him by too quickly for him to reach out and latch onto them, and it built up the bubbling discontent until it was too much to handle.

And he knew that he wasn't alone in this, either. 

There were some days that were just bad for Dan, and on those he'd find himself crawling into Phil's bed to mutter apologies until he'd be too tired to stay awake, and would fall asleep with Phil stroking his hair, assuring that it was fine. Nightmares would haunt him, swirling with the horrors, and he would find himself waking up tightly cocooned in the blanket as if trying to protect himself from the world.

There were days that seemed to be alright, and they relished in the slight disbelief of the normalcy. It almost felt right, and they found themselves actually participating in life.

Sometimes it would last long. 

Other times though...

A trip to the grocery store had seemed like a good idea to clear their heads, to enjoy the cool weather during the light of the day. Shoulders bumping lightly as they walked, an idle conversation forming between them as they went. They were almost happy.

Almost, because there was still that vary tired quality behind every word, movement, glance.

And then it all had gone wrong. 

A harsh breeze blew and Dan could smell tobacco and hear the laughter that came with it from a nearby pub that had opened early for the business on that day. Just a normal city sight and sound, really. 

It was a couple of steps ahead that he realised that Phil wasn't by his side anymore and instantly he spun around to frantically search for the other man, only to find him frozen on the spot a few meters back.

“Phil?” Dan questioned, at first just watching Phil stand and stare in the direction of the jolly men. It was only when he moved closer that he noticed the slight shake of the entirety of Phil's tall frame and the short breaths that found their way from over Phil's lips. The eyes were slightly glazed over and it was then that Dan understood that Phil wasn't there. Not really.

“Shit. Phil, come on,” He had tried to pull him away, around the corner to where less people could see them. 

“I'm here, I'm here,” Dan muttered lowly, tugging off Phil's hood and touching his cheek lightly with his frozen hand as Phil's hands reached out to cling to Dan's jacket. 

His lips moved, soundlessly, but Dan could read the pleas in them. He tried to talk to Phil, to reassure, until Phil began to wobble on his feet and Dan caught him just as the grip on his jacket went limp as did the whole body and as it began to fold up, ready to hit the ground. Awkwardly, he held the limp man, knees wobbling under the weight and the alarm that was filling his ears, coming from inside his own head.

“Phil, Phil,” He slowly leaned the other man against the wall of the building, ignoring the glances of the strangers who just kept on walking after they had satisfied their curiosity. His heart was loud and heavy, and he felt the panic build as he lightly slapped Phil's cheeks. Thankfully Phil's eyelashes soon fluttered, at first with bleariness in his gaze soon exchanged by the confusion and then - the slow realisation.

They hadn't gotten their fridge restocked that day, and the tentative joy had turned into a dark cloud again.

The worst were days when it was bad for both of them. Dan's heart ached, wanting to try and help Phil, when he'd begin to draw in short breaths while trying to make some food and had reached for the knife to chop the vegetables. Dan tried to reach out when defeat made Phil's shoulders slouch heavily, and his hand would rest by his side before reaching for the smallest knife which made cooking tedious. 

Dan tried to be the life buoy in the midst of the storm that he saw Phil was fighting and trying not to drown in. He would soon discover though, that there would be a hole in him that was filling with the dark waters and he was drowning just as badly.

And it hurt so much that he couldn't find it in himself to do the right thing. The words would tangle with the knots in his throat and lameness of his tongue. His limbs would feel like they were full of lead and though he could hear something wrong in the other room, he couldn't find it in himself to get out of bed to go check. He could only stare and murmur odd nothings in an attempt to make things a little more normal when they met eye to eye.

Eventually though, things began to make sense again, to look a little brighter. Some days were lived, instead of survived. The good days started to make more sense even when they weren't their top notch memories.

The therapy would exhaust the anger and fear.

Time would begin to gain meaning again.

Truth was spilled and bit by bit patched.

It began to feel like a life again.

======

“Dan,” There was a light squeeze to his hand and if the voice hadn't done it, then the touch definitely drew his attention back to Phil who arched his neck a bit, motioning with his head towards the exit from the room. As much as both loved the time spent together with their families, and the happiness of the celebration, it still got too much at times. The world was a little bit too loud and a bit too crowded, where so many things caused microscopic worries to start bleeding through the cracks.

Sometimes they had to remind each other that it was okay to take a moment away from it all again.

A green and an orange paper crown abandoned on the table, the two carefully slipped out of the room, and if anyone noticed, nobody tried to stop them either. 

“Your dad sure can make everything sound better than it is,” Dan commented while the two of them wandered through the warmly lit house towards the open balcony door where the coolness of air mixed with the darkness and the relative silence of the outside world. 

The room left behind them was suddenly filled with a light arguing for a moment before a new Christmas carol was set and a couple of voices joined in to sing along to it. 

It was surreal to become aware of the casualness of life again, where nobody worried about something being constantly after them. That there could be days filled with boredom, happiness, light domestic arguments and easy conclusions. For him it was like a far-away dream that he'd lost touch with and was trying to remember and feel once more.

“I guess he's just trying to see the best in this situation,” Phil responded while pulling aside the curtain to let Dan pass through the door first before following “He doesn't like to dwell on bad things if they turned out right in the end, you know that.” 

The winter air was frosty, instantly biting at the bare skin of Dan's face, but he allowed the feeling to take over, the heat and the chatter from the indoors washing away and out of his mind a bit better. He took a sip of his champagne and felt how it was warmer than the air as it hit his tongue “I appreciate it,” He admitted after the alcohol added to the warmth in his stomach again.

“I'm tired of being reminded of all the bad things,” Phil agreed with a nod and followed suit with taking a sip, after which they remained silent, watching the flurries that caught some of the light and letting the wind play in the folds of their clothes and hair.

There was a comfortable peace in the darkness and silence, and only a slight shiver once in awhile would interrupt the stillness. 

It was like their personal little eternity where their bodies were slowly coated in quickly-disappearing snowflakes.

“I want to marry you, Dan, someday,” Phil's voice was quiet but not wavering one bit and Dan looked at him with a mildly surprised expression, one brow arched and fingers tightening around the glass without realising.

“Philip Lester, are you proposing to me right now?” There was amusement mixed with amazement in his words and he couldn't look away from Phil, whose profile was illuminated by the light falling from the indoors.

“I guess I kind of am,” Suddenly their eyes met and both of their lips were smiles, “I know this isn't as grand and romantic as you would've liked it to be brought up, but,” Phil set his drink on the little table next to them and reached out for Dan's hand which he happily granted, fingers wrapping around the palm softly “After everything that's happened...”

Dan watched Phil as the older man looked down at their hands. There was something fragile in the air, but it felt familiar in a way that seemed almost nostalgic. Many moments washed up from the memory and Dan murmured, softly, as he gave Phil's hand a little squeeze “You don't have to, I know that legal marriage isn't that high of a priority in your life.” There was no offense in his words, just a soft understanding that gave Phil a free pass to take back the words without it being a problem. After all, he knew it wasn't paperwork that made them who they were.

“No, but,” Phil brought up their hands, lips pressed against Dan's knuckles lightly before he ran his thumb across them and looked up again “We've gone through so many hardships that could have torn us apart so many times, and I don't want you to ever have the slightest doubt that I'll stick with you no matter the difficulties we're facing.” There was a small pause, Dan's lips parting to interject but Phil continued before he could do so, the blue of Phil's eyes not having carried this kind of certainty as he spoke, for months “We've been together through a lot and hell itself, not just this year. And no matter how bad it got, you've still remained the one certainty in my life and I want you to know that even if you need a moment to yourself, I'll always be here for you to come back to.”

Silence set and though the words had sounded a bit possessive, Dan could read their meaning better than that and he set his drink aside too, bringing the two of them closer when he took Phil's other hand in his now free one “If after this it isn't clear I'm fully and thoroughly yours,” Dan laughed “That I'm staying through thick and thin,” Phil joined the quiet laughter “Then I don't know what else could,” Almost shyly, he leaned forward and planted a light kiss on Phil's cheek and when he pulled away Phil's eyes were closed and the smile had grown.

Dan truly loved this man.

“So, one day?” Phil asked, his head cocked a little bit to the side and smile on his lips the most genuine thing that Dan had seen and believed in months. 

“One day is very abstract,” Dan tried to humour, rolling his eyes a little but any playful sarcasm melted in his throat hearing the soft laughter from the other man “But yes. Yes, I will, when the time comes,” He promised.

And as they stood there, a promise hanging in the air around them, enveloped in the sounds of the soft singing from the indoors and the harshness of the wind outdoors, there was a reminisce of them.

A reminisce of the Dan and Phil as they had been before.

And a tentative certainty of who they will be in the future.


End file.
